Crimson Midnight
by Anthony Devon
Summary: Sequel to Inseverable Fates and tied to Legends of Voldavia ... As the news of a prophecy fulfilled sends shockwaves through the Ministry, Hermione and Killian find themselves chasing shadows. Amidst a celebration of hope for the future, the tides of a new war lingers along the horizon.
1. Chapter 1 - Rince na Gaelaí

_Sequel to Inseverable Fates ... and to Legends of Voldavia -Myths and Prophecies too, technically. But if you haven't read Legends, the story still works. Just like with the canon years, everything that happens in these stories are things that happen "between the pages" so to speak. Anyways ... enjoy_

- _Rince na Gaelaí -_

Hermione sat at her desk in her office within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She was drained and exhausted. Work within the Ministry in and of itself took its toll. But there were other priorities in the world as well. Priorities that were more important than …

A courier had been sent for. A courier who was taking far longer than Hermione had anticipated. She had discovered disturbing news. In actuality, Draco had discovered it. He was far more skilled and connected in the world of Dark wizards. Intercepting intelligence of the nefarious nature was a specialty of his that he was particularly proficient with. Regardless, the information needed to be passed on before it was too late.

An owl would not be secure enough. No, this needed to be hand delivered with the utmost discretion. A trusted courier was the only way … if trust was even something available in these times.

So Hermione sat. Sat and waited. Her mind wandered. Like most times, it wandered to the same place … the same time … the same person.

The memory of their last words hung on the edge of Hermione's consciousness. They seemed so hopeful when they were spoken. In the time that had gone by since, they now appeared to be more a dream than a reality. It had been months since that fateful day outside the Hog's Head. It felt like years. Not a word, not a letter, nothing. But as she had told him then, it was not about them … not this time.

She looked down at her desk. Documents, books, vials of various liquids, and numerous blank pieces of parchment littered the area. On one piece of parchment she had written her name over and over in an attempt to pass the time. _Hermione Granger._ It was scribed in her usual penmanship. She had been writing that name for all her life. It seemed natural.

On a second piece of parchment she had written another name several times in succession. _Hermione Weasley._ It was not quite as delicately penned. She remembered when she first realized that she would become a Weasley. How excited she was after Ron proposed. How she spent hours writing her new name over and over again, practicing until it felt natural. It never quite reached that point.

On a third piece of parchment there was yet another name. She had written it only once, but it was a vision of perfection, of happiness, of hope … _Hermione Finn._

She stared at the name of a woman who never existed. In a burst of anguish and anger she grasped the parchment, crumpled it in her hands, and turned to toss it into the burning embers of the fireplace. It made no sense for her to dwell on such a fiction. With a flick of her wrist, the balled up parchment left her hand and bounced off the hearth, rebounding back toward her feet. Accuracy without a wand was not her strong point.

She reached down, picked it up, and stood. Easier to just place it in the embers herself. As she took a step toward the fireplace, however, she paused. Retreating to her desk, she sat and straightened the parchment with her hands. _Hermione Finn. _She allowed herself a slight smile as she rested her head in her hand. It was a fiction. Noting more. But what a wonderful fiction it was …

_Hermione Finn …_

_Hermione Finn …_

_Hermione …_

…

"Hermione?" came a voice from behind.

Startled, Hermione turned and saw the same oddly charming Slytherin she had shared a dance with after the Yule Ball. Several weeks had passed since their unexpected encounter. Hermione had been busy trying to help Harry with the next task for the Triwizard Tournament. Harry had recently told her that he had everything under control. She would later find this to mean that he had merely heard the clue in the Prefect's bathroom, and had not yet deduced its meaning. Unaware of this crucial fact, Hermione felt comfortable enough to risk a bit of late night studying in the library. She was quite surprised to run into anyone else at this hour.

"Killian?" She collected herself, smiled, and replaced a stack of books on one of the many dusty shelves. "What are you doing here?"

"The same as you, I imagine," he answered.

"You're here studying the historic consequences of miscast Transfigurations?" Hermione asked with doubt.

Killian scratched his chin. "Hmmm …" he conceded. "Not quite the same as you then, I guess."

"I didn't think so."

Hermione turned and made her way to one of the long oak tables that held her stacks of books and parchments. She sat down, opened one of her tomes, and began to scribble notes as she read. Another smile broke across her face as she noticed Killian walk over and take a seat across from her. She wanted him to follow. She was not entirely sure as to why, but she did.

"I really need to study," she said, forcing her eyes to remain on her book as she continued to write.

"So do I." Killian leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the desk, crossing them comfortably. He glanced down at Hermione's Transfigurations textbook. "McGonagall … she's a tough one."

"_Professor_ McGonagall," Hermione corrected. He was baiting her. She knew it. Still, she played along. "And I find her to be an excellent teacher."

"I didn't say she wasn't," Killian explained with a grin. "I simply said she was tough. And wrinkled. She reminds me a bit of my grandmother, rest her soul. Old, tough, and wrinkled."

Hermione closed her book and looked at the Slytherin who sat across from her. "Do you have a purpose here?"

The game had begun.

"As I said," Killian answered matter-of-factly, "I'm studying."

"And what, exactly, are you studying?" Hermione asked on. "I see no books, no parchments, nothing."

Killian removed his wand, twirling it arrogantly in the process.

"It's not that type of studying. _Incendio parvulus_!"

Several tiny spears of flame ejected from the end of Killian's wand and hovered in the air between himself and Hermione.

"Are you showing off now?" Hermione asked, shaking her head and clearing her papers and books away from the flames.

"Not yet," Killian answered. A gleam appeared in his eyes. It was the same gleam that Hermione had seen on the night they first met. "_Tripudio_!"

The tiny flames now danced and spun within each other. It was slightly impressive, but Hermione merely folded her arms and sighed. She would not give him the satisfaction of acknowledging the skill involved in such a charm.

"Dancing flames?" she asked. "That's what you're here to study? And might I ask which professor is teaching such trivial parlor tricks in their class?"

Killian flicked his wand and the flames disappeared. He then kicked his feet off the table and sat forward. "All right," he conceded. "So I'm not here to study, per se."

"Per se?" Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Per se, as in not at all," Killian admitted.

"So am I to assume that you're following me?" Hermione asked, suppressing a slightly hopeful smile. "Or are you merely wandering the halls after hours?"

"Yes and no," Killian answered cryptically.

Hermione was taken aback. "Yes and no to which question?"

"Both."

"Yes and no to both questions?"

"Yes."

"Yes, yes and no to both questions?"

"Yes," Killian concurred. "More or less."

"You're about to get a book upside your head," Hermione threatened playfully, grabbing one of her larger tomes for effect.

"If you must know," Killian explained as he folded his hands on the table, "I was on my way out of the castle—"

"Out of the castle?" Hermione interjected. "At this hour? Do you know how many points your House will lose if you get caught?" She looked at Killian, awaiting a response that did not come. "But, you don't really care about that, do you?"

"Not particularly," he admitted. "That aside, I have no intention of getting caught."

Hermione shook her head. "Of course not."

"If I may proceed," Killian went on. "I was on my way out of the castle when I saw you heading to the library. It was at this time that, I admit, I altered my course and found myself here."

"So … you _did_ follow me?"

"Yes. But not in some dark and reprehensible behavior," Killian quickly clarified. "It was in a rather hopeful manner."

"Hopeful?" Hermione was a bit confused. "Hopeful for what?"

Killian stood, walked around the table, and sat in the chair beside Hermione.

"Hopeful that you might to join me," he said as he rested in chin on his hand.

_He's not serious_, Hermione thought. Although one look at the arrogant Slytherin sitting beside her assured that he was. "I don't think that's a good idea," she said doubtfully. "You may not care about the points you cost your House, but I can assure you that I care very much about the points I cost mine."

"Of course you do," Killian assured. "But as I already told you, I have no intention of getting caught. As a matter of fact, I can guarantee it."

"Really?" Hermione was not convinced. "And how, exactly, can you guarantee this?"

Killian leaned back, again kicking his feet up on the table. "Because I never get caught."

Hermione laughed and slapped his feet off the table. "You are absolutely intolerable!" she said. "And for the record, we got caught a few weeks ago."

"True." Killian appeared to be pondering this point. "But I place that on you. I never get caught when I act alone."

"Well, you wouldn't be acting alone if I came with you," Hermione reasoned.

"Damn," Killian said to himself. "Also true. How would you feel about a _practical_ guarantee versus an absolute one?"

"Not very good."

Hermione reorganized her books, opened one, and began to scribble more notes.

"Pity." Killian stood and began for the doors exiting the library. "It would have been a wondrous sight. My dancing fires charm would seem mere child's play by comparison."

He casually continued for the doors as Hermione stared at his back. She knew she should stay and study. She knew she needed to stay and study. Leaving the castle at this hour was complete against her reason. But he had piqued her curiosity. Purposefully. He was still as infuriating as he was charming.

"Wait," she called after him. "What would have been a wondrous sight?"

Killian turned slowly, his grin peeking from the corner of his mouth. She wanted so badly to strike at him for his arrogance. At the same time, another part of her was becoming accustomed to it, difficult as it may be.

"Have you ever heard of lillytoms?" Killian asked as he strode back toward the table.

"Of course," Hermione answered simplistically. Small creatures, similar to dragonflies, with a luminescent bulbous end. They're usually found in tall grassy areas or gathered in the reeds surrounding millponds."

Killian appeared stunned. He paused for a moment, nodding his head in agreement.

"That was a very articulate and detailed answer. Far more so than the simple yes or no that I had expected."

"You asked a question," Hermione justified with her nose in the air. "I merely answered."

"Yes, you did," Killian agreed as he retook his chair aside Hermione. "And now I have another." He leaned in closer. "Have you ever seen one?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Only in class," she admitted. "Never in nature."

"Then I can assume—" Killian's eyes beamed "—that you have never witnessed the _Rince na Gaelaí_?"

Hermione looked at Killian with doubt. "You're making that up," she asserted. "I've never heard of it."

"Nor I, until recently" Killian admitted. "I read about it in a book my sister sent to me. It was about the simple beauty found in the general nature of things. There was an entire chapter dedicated to the Rince na Gaelaí. It's when the lillytoms gather in seclusion and dance in the skies of a full moon."

"Gather in seclusion where?" Hermione asked.

"I would imagine that they gather near millponds and tall grasses, as you have already mentioned," Killian answered with a wink. "It just so happens that I discovered such an area in the Forbidden Forest, not far off Hogwarts' grounds."

"And you believed that I would go with you?" Hermione feigned insult. "Off Hogwarts' grounds? After hours? With me having all of this studying to do?" She began to fumble through her books. "You must be mad."

"I understand your hesitation," Killian reasoned, seeming to back off a bit.

Hermione stopped and looked at him. "What do you mean, you understand?"

"I'm aware that you and Krum—"

"Viktor and I are just …" Hermione bumbled, losing her words. "We're just … I mean …"

"I'm not looking to start any trouble," Killian assured. "I ask you along merely in an academic sense."

_Merely in an academic sense? _Hermione thought. The words stung, but she managed to put forth a slight smile. "You're not afraid of Viktor, are you?" she teased.

Killian sat up and straightened his robes. "Not at all. I simply wouldn't want to embarrass Durmstrang's champion in a duel."

Hermione laughed and slapped Killian on the shoulder. After straightening his robes for a second time, he reached his hand out for her. "So will you come?"

The last time Hermione had taken Killian's hand, they shared a private dance that she would never forget. It was a moment forever locked in time. She took a deep breath. "I shouldn't." Another deep breath. "I really do have to study."

Killian got up and walked behind Hermione. From there, he leaned over, reaching past her shoulder and closing her book. "There will be other times to study," he whispered in her ear. "But tonight there is a full moon, and far more important things to witness."

Closing her eyes, Hermione took a third deep, thoughtful breath. A moment later, she was leaving the library with Killian.

. . .

Outside in the courtyard, Hermione and Killian made their way toward the covered bridge that led to the rolling hills and fields of Hogwarts' grounds. Once there, they stopped. Killian looked around for a moment, assuring that the area was clear. He drew his wand.

"_Accio Firebolt_!"

Several seconds passed. Then, from the darkness, a broom hurled into view and hovered before Killian.

"Watched your friend Harry manage that little trick against the Hungarian Horntail," he said with wink. "Not bad, right?"

"We're going on this?" Hermione asked.

She truly did not enjoy the art of broom flying. While some appreciated the sensation of the winds blowing through their hair as they raced along at break-neck speeds, Hermione was much more comfortable with her feet placed firmly on the ground.

"It would be easier," Killian answered. "It's a bit of a walk."

Hermione reluctantly joined Killian on the broom and held him firmly. With a leap, they were off.

The night sky was cold, but clear as they sailed on and over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. Everything seemed so calm and peaceful from their vantage. Still, it did not change Hermione's thoughts about flight.

It did not take long for them to reach their destination. Looking down, Hermione saw an area of the woods that opened into a clearing with the light of the full moon reflecting brilliantly off a shallow pond. They landed on a ridge overlooking the pond and sat, waiting.

"That's not exactly a millpond," Hermione pointed out.

"I'm aware," Killian defended. "But as you can see, albeit missing said mill, everything else is in place. The pond, the reeds, the seclusion, the full moon. I rather think that the mill is merely an added accessory and the pond itself is more the necessary medium."

Hermione shook her head. "Has anyone ever told you that your manner of speech can be quite obnoxious at times?"

Killian laughed. "Never. Shall you be the first?"

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but suddenly stopped. Over the horizon of trees beyond the pond, a mass of lights emerged. Reds, purples, blues, greens, every color of the rainbow. Killian turned and saw the radiance.

"See?" he said with a grin. "I told you."

The bulbous luminescent ends of the lillytoms glowed as they gathered and hovered over the pond. They swirled and swayed in a manner that seemed like an illusion of light and reflection against the dark backdrop of the woods beyond. It was absolutely stunning to behold.

Killian stood and walked to the edge of the ridge, watching as the lillytoms continued their dance in the moonlight. Hermione stood and joined him.

"Was it worth it?" he asked.

"Worth it?" Hermione asked in return.

"Worth forgoing your studies?" Killian clarified.

Hermione looked at Killian, smiled warmly, and then returned her sights to the scene that played out before them.

"It's amazing," she said.

Killian grinned. "I thought you would enjoy it."

Hermione again looked at Killian, suddenly curious.

"Why?" she asked.

"Why what?"

"Why would you think I would enjoy something like this?"

"Well …" Killian stammered, much to Hermione's amusement. "You know … being an intellect, as you are … I thought that you would appreciate it … on an intellectual level."

"Really?" Hermione asked, rich with doubt.

"Absolutely," Killian assured. "And … you're a girl," he quickly added, his grin returning. "Girls enjoy silly things like this."

Hermione nudged him in the ribs and pushed him away. "Is that what you think of girls?" she asked as they both shared a laugh. "And why, exactly, are you here then?"

Killian paused, looking out at the Rince na Gaelaí.

"Because it's beautiful," he answered. He turned to Hermione. Their eyes locked. "And I have an appreciation for all things beautiful."

Hermione felt herself blushing and quickly looked at the ground with embarrassed. When she looked up, she was surprised to find herself standing in front of the Hog's Head. Killian looked around, seemingly equally confused. Lightening tore across the sky. They looked off into the horizon and saw dark clouds rolling in and out of themselves in the distance, growing closer with every passing second.

"What's happening?" Hermione asked as Killian maneuvered her behind him to shield her from the pushing winds.

"Something's coming," he answered as lightning flashes tore across the sky.

"We have to get out of here!" Hermione insisted, pulling at Killian's arm.

He turned to her as the encroaching menace drew nearer. He held her hands in his, staring at her with his brilliant and piercingly green eyes. "I have to go," he said, his tone so serious it frightened her. "It's the only way I can protect you."

"No!" Hermione cried. "Please don't leave me!"

She felt as though her heart was being wrenched from her chest. The sensation seemed out of place, yet overwhelmingly powerful. She could not lose him. She could not let go.

Killian pulled her hands to his lips and kissed them softly.

"I will always return to you …"

With these words, Killian was torn from Hermione's grip and hurled into the darkening skies of the tempest that engulfed the area. Hermione fell to her knees, crying out for him as he disappeared from sight, lost to her.

"Ms. Granger?" came a voice from the beyond the howling winds.

Hermione looked around, but could not find the source. The Hog's Head was being torn from its foundations. She covered up under her robes, protecting herself from the flying debris.

"Ms. Granger?" the voice came again.

Where was it coming from?

"_Ms. Granger? …"_

"_Hello? …"_

"_Anyone here?"_

"_Hello?"_

Hermione sat up with a start, knocking over several of the vials on her desk in the process. In the doorway to her office, a courier stood waiting.

"Ms. Granger?" he asked again. "You sent for a courier?"

"Yes," Hermione answered as she quickly collected herself. "I'm sorry. I must have dozed off."

"My apologies, miss," the courier went on. "We've been swamped as of late. Had an earlier delivery that was all a mess, set me back several hours—"

"It's all right," Hermione assured with a warm smile. She opened her top drawer and removed an envelope, stood, and crossed the room toward the courier. "I need this letter to be delivered to Captain Greyhem. He and his men are currently staying with Kalin Moore in Bouldan."

"Of course, miss." The courier reached for the letter, but Hermione pulled it away.

"You need to deliver this to him by hand. To him and only him, with instructions to pass the letter on to …" she paused, "… to Killian Finn."

"The Hunter?" The courier took a step back, his eyes widening. "I cannot make a delivery to him. He and the Triad are—"

"And that's why you're delivering to Captain Greyhem," Hermione interjected. "He will pass it on from there. And it is of vital importance that no one discover the source of this missive." She handed the courier a small pouch of Galleons. "Is that perfectly clear?"

The courier cautiously accepted the Galleons along with the letter, his hand shaking slightly. "And what shall I tell Captain Greyhem? He is sure to question the letter's origin."

"Tell him …" Hermione paused, pondering for a moment. _A beautiful flower, yet sharp with thorns …_ Her eyes began to well, but she quickly wiped it away. "Tell him it's from Acacia."

"Acacia," the courier confirmed. "It will be done." He paused for a moment, seeming to choose his next words carefully. "I hope I'm not out of place in asking," he continued cautiously, "but are you all right?

Despite Hermione's attempt to hide it, it appeared her emotions were quite noticeable.

"I'm fine," she insisted, again wiping her eyes. "Just had a bad dream is all."

Not a dream. A memory. A memory that turned into a nightmare.

The courier placed the letter and the bag of Galleons in his coat. "If I may say, miss," he offered, "I wouldn't put a lot of worry into bad dreams. They're not all prophetic. That's just a myth."

With those words, he nodded and retreated through the doorway. Hermione walked back to her desk and sat down. She looked down at the parchment. _Hermione Finn._ A wonderful fiction. She took the parchment, folded it, and placed it within her robes. With a deep breath, she gathered up her things and got ready to leave, smiling to herself. Such a wonderful fiction.


	2. Chapter 2 - A Prophecy Fulfilled

_- A Prophecy Fulfilled -_

Malfoy Manor. Hermione detested the structure from its deep foundations to the ornate clay tiles that lined its many pitches roofs. She and Harry had received an invitation from Lucius. There was no indication that it was anything more than a dinner party. But Hermione knew better. An invitation from the Malfoy's could mean only one thing. _They_ were coming.

She stood by the window of the bedroom the Malfoy's had prepared for her. It was much finer and more spacious than her arrangements the previous year … Not that she actually occupied that glorified broom closet. No, this time it was different. She was sure that he had a hand in it.

Out on the expansive lawn that stretched before the manor, Harry and Draco stood and conversed casually. The two former adversaries had been working together for years. She still had not grown completely accustomed to it. This was most likely because Draco still took near every opportunity to spout some form of clever impertinence toward the _Boy Who Lived_. Old habits die hard. Harry merely dismissed the comments, of course. He clearly had grown far more accustomed to the unlikely partnership than Hermione had.

It had been months since she had sent her letter in secret. She did not hear anything in return, not that she was particularly surprised. Winter had come and gone. The spring melted the snows and the world was rejuvenated once again. And now she stood. Waiting. Waiting and watching.

A familiar face Apparated beside Harry. Tall, broad, burly … Altimus. Wraith soon followed, delicate and petite. A second later, Hermione felt his arms embrace her from behind. A familiar touch. A familiar smell. She closed her eyes as he held her close. He said nothing. He did not have to. His embrace spoke a thousand words.

She turned and threw her arms around him. The time they had spent apart, the pain and emptiness she had felt, washed away with a single breath. They were together again. That was all that mattered.

A knock sounded from the door.

_Not yet … Just a moment_, Hermione thought as she clutched at Killian. _Just a moment alone …_

A second knock sounded.

Killian turned his eyes toward the door, then back to Hermione. He kissed her gently on the forehead. She closed her eyes once again. There would time. Not this moment, but there would be time.

"Come in," Hermione called as she and Killian stepped away from each other and adjusted themselves.

The door creaked open and Kreacher, old and wrinkled as ever, slowly trod in. Harry had relinquished the services of his house-elf to the Malfoy's. Kreacher, long serving the Black family, had been absolutely miserable since he had been willed to Harry after Sirius' untimely death. In time, Harry believed it inhumane to continue to torture the aging servant, and the Malfoys gladly welcomed the loyal house-elf.

"Kreacher sees the Hunter has founds his Mudblood," he croaked, his voice like a bullfrog.

"You will mind your—" Killian began, but Hermione stopped him.

"Apologies," Kreacher offered with a bow. "Not meanings harm. The Masters call. If it pleases you to follows." He gestured to the door.

"We'll be down in a moment," Hermione assured.

"If the Mudblood insists," Kreacher conceded before retreating from the room and closing the door.

Hermione could see the frustration in Killian's eyes. She found it almost amusing.

"He's old, and set in his ways," she defended.

"It does not matter," Killian said. "The term is both insulting and indecent. Furthermore, the idea that they sent a house-elf to summon you—"

Hermione covered Killian's mouth with her hand, smiling warmly. "It's all right. I'm not offended."

Killian pulled Hermione's hand away and narrowed his eyes. "You are far more forgiving than I."

Hermione placed her hand on Killian's cheek, leaned in, and kissed him gently. "I know," she agreed.

. . .

In the dining room, diner had been set. Harry, Draco, Lucius, Narcissus, Altimus, and Wraith were already seated when Hermione and Killian entered.

"So good of you to join us," Lucius greeted, tipping his glass of wine with a customary arrogance. "Please have a seat, won't you?"

Hermione found an empty chair beside Harry and sat, exchanging nods of feigned politeness with Narcissa. Killian sat opposite Hermione, beside Draco, receiving a far warmer salutation from his hosts.

"Now that we are all here," Lucius continued as Kreacher marched in and began to serve bowls of rich tomato and basil soup, "I am eager to hear of the events in Bouldan."

"Right to the point, this one," Altimus said with a laugh.

"I am merely curious," Lucius explained casually. "The entire county-side is infested with gossip and hearsay. As a concerned member of higher society, I believe it is my duty to filter through said prattle, so as not to cause any unnecessary confusion amongst the people."

"You speak for the people now, do you?" Hermione asked with a hint of distain.

"For some," Narcissa clarified curtly. "Others often have an annoying habit of speaking for themselves."

"I'm afraid there is nothing to tell," Killian quickly interjected before Hermione had an opportunity to respond. Still, her glare toward the mistress of the house did not go unnoticed.

"Killian, you are ever humble," Lucius commended, a rich look of pride on his face. "A prophecy is fulfilled before your very eyes, and you claim there is nothing to tell."

Killian paused for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. "I had nothing to do the fulfillment of any prophecy," he finally said. "Nor am I certain that such an event has occurred."

"No?" Lucius grinned and cast an eye toward Harry. "And what of you, Mr. Potter? What are you beliefs, having been the focus of a rather infamous prophecy yourself?"

Harry took the comment in stride. He had been dealing with the Malfoys for such a long time, their words rolled off him rather easily.

"I, myself, am happy to rid of such drama," he assured, instinctually rubbing the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. "In regards to the incidents in Bouldan, I cannot say. I would need to be better informed."

"Yes," Lucius agreed, returning his attention to Killian and his Triad, "as would we all."

"As I said before," Killian reiterated, "there is nothing to tell."

"But you were there," Narcissa prodded. "Surely you must know something."

"Leave him be, mother," Draco spoke in Killian's defense. "He doesn't need to be interrogated."

"Of course not," Narcissa agreed with slight humility. "I apologize, Killian. You must be exhausted from all of this. We should not be adding to your burden."

"There is no need to apologize … You must excuse my shortness. Things have been rather trying as of late." Killian's voice had softened noticeably toward Narcissa, the closest person to a mother that he had left in this world. Hermione detested the though, but knew it to be true. The Malfoy's were his family. There was a bond there that ran deep within him.

Diner continued with hints of casual conversation. The tension in the room was evident, however. No matter how many years went by, the history between the factions that now shared a meal would never completely fade away.

As Kreacher started clearing the table after dessert, Hermione began to feel anxious. She noticed that Killian had been distant throughout dinner. This would not have been strange in ordinary circumstances. Dining with the Malfoys, however, should have placed him at ease. Lucius and Narcissa also seemed out of place. They were as calm, collected, and arrogant as ever. But they seemed as anxious as Hermione. They wanted to know something. Something that Killian was not telling them.

"Shall I be the first to ask, then?" Hermione finally spoke up.

"Ask what, my dear?" Lucius followed dismissively.

"What is the occasion that calls us all together?" Hermione answered simply. "I find it difficult to believe that this is a social dinner. No offense, Lucius," she quickly followed with a bit of a smirk.

"None taken," he dismissed casually. "But I cannot answer your question, I'm afraid. I did not call this meeting." He looked back at Killian, who appeared perplexed.

"Nor did I," he defended.

"I did not suggest that you had," Lucius assured with a warm smile.

Harry now appeared as confused as Hermione. He looked to Draco, who merely shrugged in response. Clearly, Draco was as informed as the rest of them.

"I don't suppose …" Harry asked Altimus with doubt.

"Are you kidding?" Altimus answered with another hearty laugh. "I'm not in charge of organizing anything."

"That's because you're an imbecilic oaf," Wraith offered with a quiet curtness.

"Really?" Altimus looked at Wraith. "First words you speak all night, and that's what you have to say?" He looked to everyone at the table. "You see what I have to deal with? Every day with this one."

Harry and Draco found the exchange amusing. Killian shook his head. Such antics seemed to be ordinary in his life. Hermione, although equally amused, pressed the issue at hand.

"If you didn't call this meeting," she asked of Lucius, "then who did."

"I did," came a voice from the archway between the dining room and the hall.

All turned to see Kingsley Shacklebolt enter.

"Minister?" Hermione greeted curiously.

"Ms. Granger," the Minister greeted in return.

Kingsley found an empty chair at the table and sat amongst a warm welcome from everyone, with the exception of Wraith and Killian. Wraith was no surprise. She rarely spoke and possessed no form of warmth. Killian, however, still showed distain for the current Minister of Magic. Although they had worked together a year previous, there was still a significant amount of distrust between the two.

"Am I to assume this will be an annual meeting?" Killian asked curtly.

"Let us hope it will not," Kingsley answered without a flinch. "I presume we all know why we are here," he went on.

"Only slightly," Lucius answered. "I am afraid that Killian has been rather humble in his telling of the events in Bouldan."

Hermione put it together. The meeting, as with the previous year, was to be off the official record. The Ministry, The Triad, the Malfoys … working together. It was insanity. She could see that Lucius, however, rather enjoyed his place in this little deception. After all, such duplicity was in his blood.

"Yes, it appears that the Knights of Tempus are being equally reserved," Kingsley said. He turned his attention to Killian. "Regardless, it is of vital importance that we discover what occurred at the Shrine."

"And why is that, exactly?" Killian asked in return, his glare unwavering.

"Because," Kingsley explained, "we have received reports that Gaius Mideus may be on the move."

"On the move?" Harry piped in, his eyes widening.

The Malfoy's expression matched that of Harry's. It appeared that Lucius and Narcissa truly did not welcome the return of this particular Dark Lord.

"One the move where?" Hermione followed up. "How do we know this?"

"Several scouts have reported seeing disciples of Lord Mideus lurking in back alleys and boarding houses, asking questions," Kingsley explained. "This seems to indicate that something is afoot. As to what and where, we are not certain."

"Big surprise there," Draco spouted. "Right on top of things, as usual."

"There is only so much we can do, within the boundaries of the law," Kingsley defended.

"Boundaries …" Draco cut himself off. Hermione could see that he intended a rather abusive tirade, but thought better of it in front of his mother. She was actually quite proud of his restraint, musing that Harry must be rubbing off on him … at least slightly.

"Oh, you have to be joking …" Altimus spoke up.

Kingsley did not answer.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked of the hulking member of the Triad.

"I mean, that's why _we're _here, isn't it?" Altimus answered, seemingly both amused and insulted at the same time. "Ministry needs answers, but they don't want to get their pretty little hands dirty. So they want us to do it for them. I tell you, the nerve of these politicians …"

Now it appeared that Altimus was showing restraint.

"So that's why _they're_ here, underhanded as it may be," Harry reasoned with Kingsley. "But that doesn't explain why _we're_ here," he added with a gesture to Hermione and Draco.

The Minister paused. It appeared that he did not want to answer.

"Which disciples have your scouts discovered?" Killian asked, his eyes narrowing.

Kingsley's silence continued as he took a deep, calculating breath.

"Which _disciples_!" Killian repeated, more firmly this time.

"Lord Akuma of Gauff," Kingsley finally answered.

"And?" Killian pressed on.

"And …" Kingsley continued hesitantly, "... it appears that Tanzar has come out of hiding, as well."

Killian stood up in a fury and stormed out of the room. The tension in the air was immeasurable. Even Lucius seemed startled by Killian's sudden and abrupt actions.

"Has the Ministry gone mad?" Harry asked, disgusted by the revelation. "What you are asking is beyond despicable!"

"We need to discover what it is that Lord Mideus is planning," Kingsley defended. "His followers are the best source for that information. We do not have the legal means to gather said enlightenment."

"So you'll have the Triad gather it for you, is that it?" Draco shouted, clearly as disgusted as Harry.

"Now Draco," his mother spoke up, "I'm sure that the Minister is not saying that you are incapable—"

"Of course he is!" Draco came back. "Not within his precious _laws_!"

"The Triad, on the other hand," Harry added, "they can work outside the law. They can get you what you want."

"Only now that we know that Tanzar is one of the targets …" Draco went on.

"You need us to police them," Hermione finished, finding herself sickened by the Ministry's plan.

"Exactly!" Draco shouted again. "You want the Triad to acquire what _you_ desire, but you need us to keep Killian from getting what _he_ desires!"

With that, Draco got up and left. Hermione was not sure she had ever seen him as angry as he was at that moment. At least, not over anything so noble. Killian was his brother in every way but blood. Families stand together, even when they are Slytherins.

"I'm not sure that your plan is going to work," Lucius said with a grin as he leaned back in his chair. He seemed pleased with the lack of respect that the Minister was receiving, albeit deserved in Hermione's opinion.

"It must work," Kingsley reasoned. "The alternative would be disastrous."

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"Because," Kingsley answered, "our informants tell us that Akuma and Tanzar are seeking information about the whereabouts of a power so great that Lord Mideus could resurrect his armies and lay siege to the entire countryside in a manner that could not be defended."

Lucius' grin faded.

"What power?" Harry asked.

"We do not know," Kingsley answered. "That is why we seek your help," he added with a glance toward Altimus.

"I don't know why you're looking at me," Altimus said. "None of this matters. There is no way you're going to get Killian to agree to this."

"Perhaps you might have a word with him," Lucius said to Hermione with a raised eyebrow. "I'm sure you could persuade him, if need be."

Hermione glared at Lucius. She wanted to lash out, but it was now her turn to show restraint.

"Please," Kingsley continued. "We need to know what happened at the Shrine."

Altimus sat there. Wraith offered no support. Hermione knew that petite sorceress stood with Killian. If Killian did not offer the information, there was no chance that she would. Altimus, on the other hand, seemed to understand what was at stake.

"I'll tell you what happened," he reluctantly agreed. "But I give no guarantees of our involvement in your little plan. None. And no questions about Daniel's boy. Nothing more than what you already know, that is … I mean, he's alive and all. Those are the terms. That, or we walk out right now."

"Agreed," Kingsley accepted.

"Oh," Altimus added. "And we'll take payment up front on this one."

"You have just said that you cannot guarantee your involvement," Kingsley reasoned.

"No," Altimus agreed with a wink. "But logic would tell you that the odds go up if we have gold in hand."

Lucius tipped his head to Altimus. Clearly he respected anyone who turned the screws on the Ministry. Kingsley nodded reluctantly. What followed was a description of violence, treason, and death. A description of the prophesized rise of the Aal Shah'meik and the ensuing chaos that followed. A description of events that tore at Hermione, if for only that Killian had been engaged in such lethal and severe happenings.

"And who is the Aal Shah'meik?" Kingsley asked. "What is his name?"

"Sorry," Altimus answered, shaking his head. "That was not in the agreement."

"Surely you can tell us his—" Kingsley argued.

"Can," Altimus cut in. "But won't. Shall I continue, brother? Or are we finished?"

Kingsley nodded reluctantly.

As Altimus' retelling of the events at the Shrine wound down, Hermione left. Harry could fill her in later. She ascended the stairs to bedrooms on the second floor. There, she found Killian and Draco conversing by a large window at the end of the hall. As she advanced, Draco saw her, said his goodbyes, and retreated to one of the many adjacent rooms.

"I heard what happened," Hermione said as she joined Killian. "How is Draven?"

"He's well enough," Killian answered. He looked at her, then quickly looked away and out the window. "I know that they have sent you to talk to me … to convince me. I cannot do it. They cannot expect me—"

Hermione reached up, turning Killian back toward her. "They did not send me," she assured as she ran her fingers along his cheek. "And I'm not here to convince you of anything. I leave that to your conscience."

Killian looked at Hermione, and laughed. "That's just like you … always has been. Your faith in me may be misplaced in this instance."

"I know you," Hermione said with a smile. "I'm not worried."

She took his hand, and together they looked out the window and into the moonlit sky.


	3. Chapter 3 - Diagon Disaster

_- Diagon Disaster -_

The next morning, Hermione and Killian entered the parlor together. The memories of that particular room still sent shivers up Hermione's spine.

Lucius, Draco, Harry, and the Triad's other two members were already conversing. Lucius appeared arrogant and proper, as was customary. Draco, however, seemed visibly agitated. Whatever the group had been discussing, it had not been pleasant.

"What excellent timing," Lucius said. "It appears we are at an impasse of a sort."

"How so?" Killian asked as he and Hermione joined them.

"Your friend Altimus tells us that you will never agree to aid the Ministry under the stipulations set by Minister Shacklebolt," Lucius explained. "And the Minister has expressed that the Ministry will not condone any stipulations that allow for … _vengeance_," he punctuated with a grin.

"And where is the Minister?" Killian asked with marked distain.

"He's gone," Harry answered. "He believed it better that we try to resolve this without his presence clouding anyone's judgment."

"Running with his tail between his legs is more like it," Altimus scoffed. "Nerve of the man! Asking for our help, then handing us a set of guidelines along with it! Bah!"

"You have to understand—" Harry tried to explain.

"With all due respect," Killian cut in, "I have to understand nothing. We do not work for the Ministry and, as such, do not take orders from them."

There was an awkward silence. Harry stared at Killian, as if hoping the foremost Triad member would see reason. Draco's eyes were on the floor. Hermione looked between Harry and Killian, unsure of what to say. Lucius simple stood by the mantle, observing. Such situations always seemed to entertain the former Death Eater.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry finally said. "Because with or without you, I'm going after Tanzar and Akuma."

"Without them, you'll fail!" Draco spoke up. "You'll never find them! It's a fool's mission!"

"Even so," Harry conceded. "And as much as it pains me to say this, Kingsley is right. It must be done within the boundaries of the law."

"And if we find them first?" Altimus asked.

"Then I will stop you from doing what it is that you do," Harry answered, careful with his wording.

"You will _try_," Wraith corrected coldly.

Harry seemed unaffected by the veiled threat. Hermione looked at Killian. She could see the tension in his face, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrow and focused. But she knew that Harry was right. She had to make a decision.

"I'm going with him," she said to Killian.

She did not have to tell him. He already knew.

"And what of you," he asked of Draco.

Draco looked at Killian, the frustration in his eyes evident. "I go where you go," he assured. "To hell with the Ministry."

"How amusing," Lucius said with a slight chortle. "Everyone at odds, reluctantly following either their orders or emotions."

"You're not helping," Draco said to his father.

"Am I not?" Lucius asked, his arrogance still shining through.

Hermione turned back to Killian, trying to make eye contact. He refused to look at her. She could feel the struggle eating away at him.

"I _have_ to go with Harry," she reasoned.

"I know," Killian said with marked restraint.

"I work for the Ministry," Hermione went on. "It's the right thing to—"

"I _know_!" Killian reiterated through gritted teeth.

Although he still could not look her in the eyes, Hermione knew she had gotten through to him. Especially with the knowledge that she would be accompanying Harry in his search for Akuma and Tanzar with or without the help of the Triad. He would never allow for such dangers.

Altimus began to eye everyone in the room. "Hold on," he began cautiously. "What's going on here?"

"We work for the Ministry now," Wraith answered, the antipathy in her tone markedly evident.

The Triad's surly member turned to Killian. "Is she right, brother?"

"We hunt Dark Wizards," Killian explained reluctantly. "If the Ministry has information that will lead us to them …" He did not finish this thought. It did not matter. It would have been a lie. Hermione knew it. She was fairly certain that everyone in the room knew it as well.

Killian turned to leave the parlor. Harry reached for his arm, turning him back around.

"Thank you," he said. "This would have been an impossible task without you."

Killian pulled his arm away. "Do not believe for a moment that I will not kill Tanzar if the opportunity arises, whether you are there to stop me or not," he assured. "I am not you, Harry. My soul is not so pure."

"Then I hope the opportunity does not arise," Harry offered. "I certainly don't wish for a world where we're at odds."

Turning his back on Harry, Killian left the parlor.

. . .

"Just tell us who the bugger was," Altimus suggested casually of wiry-haired man he had pinned to the counter at Plunders' House of Rootwork and Conjurations. "That, and where said bugger set off to, and we'll be on our way. Promise."

"Fascinating technique," Harry whispered as he, Hermione, and Draco watched from the other side of the shop. "Brutal, yet polite."

The brutalized man in question was the shop owner, Caliday Plunders. The Ministry's scouts reported that an unknown man buying supplies for Lord Mideus' cause had frequented his House of Rootwork and Conjurations, one of the many establishments that peddled items of nefarious natures in Knockturn Alley.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Plunders insisted. "Many people come into my shop. Do you really believe I can remember them all?"

"I think you would remember this one," Altimus said. "Probably a bit more dodgy than the rest."

"Dodgy?" Plunder scoffed. "Have you looked around? This isn't exactly the High Street of London! You must be mad!"

Altimus released his grip on Plunders and stood back, his hands on his hips.

"You hear that, Wraith?" he asked of his petite counterpart. "Mad, he says. Maybe you should interrogate him then. Seems I'm not fit."

Plunders cowered as the tiny witch stepped forward. "No!" he begged. "No please!"

Hermione found it amusing how much fear Wraith instilled in people. For such a demure outer appearance, she had reputation for brutality that far preceded her wherever the Triad traveled.

As Wraith and Altimus continued their questioning, Killian was elsewhere, perusing the store. Hermione was watching him curiously. He had been examining different artifacts, ingredients for potions of immoral intentions, scrolls of binding and hexing effects, and other such items. As random as it seemed, it appeared he was searching for something in particular. Something he had just found.

He grabbed an item card sitting in front of an empty display before joining Altimus and Wraith.

"It appears that someone has purchased your Spiorad Druma," he said, presenting the card to Plunders. "I would very much like to know who."

The old man stared at Killian, more fearful now than he had been at the thought of an interrogation from Wraith. "I c-cannot say," he stuttered, shaking his head, his eyes wide as saucers. "He w-will kill me."

Killian leaned in, eyeing his captive. "_I_ will kill you if you do not."

"He's not serious," Draco whispered to Harry. "It's just a threat."

"I'm not stupid," Harry dismissed.

"Sometimes I wonder," Draco followed with a smirk.

"Shut it, you two," Hermione chastised.

"I ask again …" Killian began.

"Please, I beg you," Plunders cried. "The Spiorad Druma does not even work. It merely mutters sounds. He will not find what he seeks with it."

"Whoah!" Altimus piped in. "Mideus was here? Personally?"

"No," Plunders answered. "Of course not. He sends his minions to do his work. Not that I'm any safer for it."

"Was it Tanzar?" Killian asked, his patience wearing thin.

"N-No," Plunders answered again.

Killian drew his staff to the shop owner's throat. "Then … _who_?"

Plunders pointed over Killian's shoulder, beyond Hermione, Harry, and Draco. "Him."

All turned to the entrance and saw a thin, squirrelly man in tattered clothing enter the shop. He looked at the group of Ministry officers and Triad members and quickly turned tail out the door.

Without a word, the chase was on. Outside, Knockturn Alley was cluttered with witches and wizards all making their way through the filthy pathways that snaked in and out of the shadows. Explosions erupted as the fleeing wizard, now joined by several others, fired curses back at their pursuers.

The chase soon led into the crowded streets of Diagon Alley. People ducked for cover as the chaotic duel continued. Then, Hermione noticed something amidst the smoke that made her blood run cold … Arthur and Molly Weasley shielding Rose and Hugo from the flying debris.

"No!" she shouted as she leapt into the anarchy and ran toward her children.

She was immediately struck by an arrant jinx that sent her crashing to the ground. She looked up and saw a resounding explosion separate Arthur and Molly from the children. Several more wild curses followed, ricocheting toward Rose and Hugo. In an instant, Killian and Harry Apparated and deflected the curses away. Arthur and Molly quickly joined them as they shielded the children from further harm.

Desperately, Hermione staggered to her feet and raced over. As she did, Killian left to rejoin the duel without a word.

"Can you handle this?" Harry asked of Hermione.

"Yes," she assured. "Go on!"

Harry followed Killian. Hermione remained with the Weasleys and her children as Harry, Draco, and the Triad soon overpowered and contained the renegade wizards. As the dust settled and Aurors from the Ministry took the prisoners away, Harry and Draco walked over.

"Merlin's beard!" Arthur exclaimed. "What was all of that about then?"

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked.

"It was a nice day," Molly answered. "Thought we'd take the grandchildren to Honeydukes."

"I say," Arthur pressed of Hermione, "does Ron know you're involved in such things?"

"He does now," Draco said under his breath. Harry elbowed him for the comment.

"This was out of the ordinary," Harry spoke for Hermione. She was far too preoccupied with her children to answer for herself at the moment. "Ministry business that just got out of hand."

"Out of hand, indeed," Arthur agreed with a smile. "Seems you're still a good person to have around when my family is in danger though, aren't you."

"I'm not sure of that," Harry admitted with humility. "Especially when you take into account that I may have, in part, been the cause of this particular danger."

"Nonsense," Arthur dismissed, patting Harry on the shoulder. "So now," he went on, looking past Harry, "am I to assume that they're the infamous Triad the Prophet is always going on about?"

Harry turned and saw Killian, Altimus, and Wraith conversing in front of Gringotts as onlookers gawked from a distance.

"Yes," he concurred. "Those would be them."

"Fascinating," Arthur said as he stepped around Harry and approached the brooding trio.

Killian seemed surprised when the oddly warm wizard stepped to him.

"You must be Killian," Arthur assumed.

Hermione noticed what was transpiring. She, Harry, and Draco quickly joined Arthur. She was immensely uncomfortable and even more fearful that it was quite noticeable.

"I'm Arthur Weasley," Hermione's father-in-law went on. "And I would like to shake your hand." He extended his hand. Killian took it, albeit with an awkwardness that did not usually befit him. "Thank you …" Arthur beamed "… for saving my grandchildren."

"I had no notion that you're grandchildren were there." Killian lied.

"No notion indeed," Molly dismissed, pushing through the group and giving Killian a bearish hug. "I don't care what the papers write about you and your little group," she assured, gesturing to Altimus and Wraith, "you're right with me as far as I'm concerned."

The absolute horrid expression of embarrassment etched in Killian's face from Molly's show of affection was enough to make Hermione choke a sudden urge to burst out laughing. Altimus was not so subtle, catching an icy glare from Wraith in the process.

"Now, that's a sight, eh?" came George's voice as he put his arm around Hermione's shoulder and watched the scene before them. "Mom getting Finn all red in the face. How many galleons would I pay to see that again?"

"I'd front them to you if you could arrange it," Draco offered with a wink.

Amusing as the scene was, there was a terrible feeling of uneasiness welling up inside of Hermione. Arthur, Molly, George, the children, Killian … all in one place. She knew that Killian was feeling it too. She could see it in his eyes. They never lied to her.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Silver-haired Headmaster

_- The Silver-haired Headmaster -_

It did not take long for Diagon Alley to return to business. The patrons resumed their shopping, banking, and other such business. Aside from the random bits of destruction and debris that were already being repaired, one would not suspect that it was different than any other day.

Molly Weasley, as promised, took Rose and Hugo to Honeydukes. Ambrosius Flume and George Weasley had worked together to open a second of Hogsmead's famous sweet shop in Diagon Alley a few years back. George often bragged about what a sound business decision is was to partner up with Ambrosius and his wife. After all, getting children wired on sugars and chocolates certainly helped sales at his joke shop.

As Molly and the children wandered off, George, Hermione, and Harry retreated into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The Triad, on the other hand, remained on the street, listening on as Arthur Weasley passionately conversed with them about random questions he had in regards to their line of work, how they felt about the current on-goings within the Ministry, and what, specifically, they thought could make the most difference in such a chaotic world. Ever the conversationalist, Arthur had become even more so since his retirement from the Ministry, always curious as to what the next generation was up to.

Draco stood quietly by Killian, seeming as disinterested in the conversation as Killian was uncomfortable with it. Hermione watched from the window of the joke shop. Again, she found the scene amusing. Clearly, Killian was not used to conversing with such a warm, kindly, and overwhelmingly congenial person. She could see it in his face. Luckily, Altimus had no such issues, and carried most of the conversation.

Inside, business was a bit slow. It was not unusual for this time of year. There was always a bit of a lull just before the rush of a new term at Hogwarts. On this day, it provided just enough of a calm for Hermione, Harry, and George to speak openly without the worry of unwanted ears.

"I don't suppose you can tell me what in the bloody hell all that racket was about, can you?" George asked as they walked through the shop. He had grown his hair out a bit longer to cover up the scar left from Snape's errant curse several years earlier when Harry was being transported from Privet Drive. Still, it was noticeable to Hermione. She hated seeing it. It simply brought back terrible memories.

"Nothing to get worried about," Harry answered. "Rounding up a few delinquents is all."

"Does it look like I'm worried?" George offered with a laugh. "Not now that you're running with them and all," he added with a gesture to the door.

At that moment, Killian, Draco, Altimus, and Wraith entered the shop. George immediately walked over to greet them.

"Good to see you, Finn," he welcomed, embracing Killian firmly.

Killian's reaction was far different than the one he offered of Molly's bearish hug. No, this time he returned the sentiment. "It's been far too long, old friend."

George turned back to Hermione and Harry with a smirk on his face, throwing his arm over Killian's shoulder. "So," he spoke to the Triad, "what are the odds that you'll give me the chapter and verse on what these two bobbies of the Ministry are hiding?"

"Absolutely not!" Hermione cut in. "And we are not bobbies, George!" she added.

"Well, technically I am," Harry corrected honestly, much to George's amusement. "Of a sort, anyways. Although, I suppose you would be more like the Chief Bobby," he teased.

"Either way," Hermione dismissed, "the Ministry strictly forbids—"

"We do not work for the Ministry," Wraith pointed out curtly.

The poignant statement brought a silence to the group. Hermione knew she could disagree with Wraith's assertion. After all, if the Triad was not working with the Ministry, then they were vigilantes, making them outlaws. The Ministry is obligated to arrest outlaws. They were walking such a perilous line. All of them. Rules. Hermione lived her life by them. Most of the time she did, at any rate. A small bend or fracture now and again. She looked at Killian. Sometimes more.

"Fine," she conceded. "But I refuse to allow any discussions out here."

"Not a problem," George assured. He seemed far too pleased about the whole thing. "I'll just get Verity to watch the till and we can use the back."

All followed George to a small door that led to storage areas off the main sales floor. On the other side, Verity was taking an inventory.

It took several years after Fred's death for George to effectively move on with his life. The devastation and emptiness the loss of his twin had left in his soul nearly swallowed him completely. Eventually, with the help of his wife and the birth of his son, he managed to pull himself together. Soon after, he decided to promote Verity to his brother's long empty position, and together, they now ran Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

George spoke to Verity, who agreed to watch the sales floor. As she made her way to the door, she stopped by Hermione. She paused, glanced at Killian, then turned back.

"Is he still a fool?" she asked Hermione in a whisper.

"He can be," Hermione admitted with a slight smile.

"And what manner of fool are you, Mrs. Weasley?" Verity asked on with a raised eyebrow. Without another word, she exited, leaving Hermione feeling odd and thoroughly embarrassed.

"All right, so what's all the fuss?" George asked, sitting on a long wooden storage shelf and swinging his legs back and forth. "More than a few delinquents if the Ministry in calling on the Triad, am I right? Dark and nefarious, I'm betting."

"You can't imagine," Altimus answered.

"Bet I can," George countered with a grin, showing off his missing ear.

"Right you are," Altimus agreed with laugh.

So George was entertained with the story of Lord Mideus' followers skulking around the dark alleys of the countryside, recruiting weak minded fools and soulless criminals to their cause. At the same time, it also appeared that many of the aforementioned recruits were being employed to obtain various items that would not pass a contraband raid by the Ministry, including the recently acquired Spiorad Druma.

"So what is it, then?" George asked quizzically. "Mideus trying start some macabre collection of dark artifacts? Bold as brass, that one."

"We're fairly certain that it's more than that," Hermione assured. "I'm not particularly familiar with the Spiorad Druma," she went on, "but whatever its function, it's for more than adorning his mantle."

"It's an artifact believed to allow is possessor to speak with the dead," Killian explained to the surprise of all in the room.

"To speak with the dead?" Harry asked. He had long known that there was no magic that could raise the dead … not in the person's true form, that is. However, he was also quite aware that magic existed that allowed for one to communicate, even see, those whom had passed from the mortal realm.

Altimus' eyes lit up as if a sudden realization had set in. "That's what he's up to."

"Who?" Hermione asked.

"Lord Mideus," Altimus clarified.

"Needs to have a little chat with an Inferi, does he?" George offered with a grin. "Wicked old bugger."

"Not an Inferi," Killian corrected. Hermione saw that he was following the same line of thought as Altimus. "Lord Mideus needs to speak with a fallen disciple."

"For what purpose?" Harry asked.

"The follower of Mideus who was recently disposed of in Bouldan was seeking information," Killian explained, his eyes wandering in thought. "Information that he obtained, but did not have the opportunity to pass on."

"So he sends his little gits to grab this Druma item—" George deduced.

"As well as any other devices of such a nature," Killian finished. "If Mr. Plunders was being truthful, Lord Mideus will soon find disappointment with the Spiorad Druma. However, we all know that there are such items in existence that would not fail to accomplish their presumed function." He looked to Harry.

"The Resurrection Stone is gone," Harry stated emphatically. "You're more likely to find a specific grain of sand in the deserts of Egypt."

"Don't think he wouldn't try, brother," Altimus pointed out.

"Even so," Harry defended. "I'm the only one alive who knows where that stone is, and I'm not entirely certain I could find it if I wanted to. It's been near a decade and a half since it was lost. The earth has surely reclaimed it by now."

"I agree," Killian said.

"The Resurrection Stone is the most powerful and reliable method for speaking to the dead, and you don't believe that Lord Mideus would seek it out?" Hermione asked with doubt.

"In another circumstance, perhaps," Killian explained. "However, if he is already making his move, he lacks the time necessary for such an arduous search. He is looking for something more readily available."

"So …" Altimus pondered aloud, "… we just go on and grab up as many of these dark artifacts as we can get our hands on?"

"I would much rather prefer a more direct approach," Hermione argued. "Unfortunately, there are so many items with false claims, how are we going to ever sort through them all? Lord Mideus has a small army at his command. We don't possess such resources."

Harry shook his head, staring at the ceiling. "Dumbledore would have known," he offered solemnly.

"Or Snape," Killian added. Draco nodded in agreement.

"So why not ask them?" George asked.

All looked to George as if he had gone mad.

"Um," Altimus said with a chuckle, "you saying we should ask the dead where we can find a dark artifact that allows us to speak with the dead? I think you've been testing out too many of your Dilly Dolt Cranial Crushers."

"You don't need any dark artifacts to speak to a portrait," George pointed out, seeming rather proud of himself. "None of you thought of this, eh?"

Harry smiled, now understanding where George was leading. "The Headmasters' portraits at Hogwarts."

"Ministry's finest, this one," George teased, thumbing to Harry.

"I'll make arrangements," Draco said, and swiftly left.

"I'll tag along with you if you don't mind," George offered to Harry and Hermione. "Haven't been to Hogwarts in ages. Could use a little reminiscing."

"Angelina will have your head," Hermione warned.

"If not for this, for something else," George assured with a wink.

. . .

Soon, the Triad and the Ministry officers, along with George, were walking the hallowed halls of the historic school of witchcraft and wizardry. Argus Filtch led the way to the Headmaster's office while shouting various vulgarities at Peeves, who found it necessary to tag along and spew inflammatory rhymes.

Muggles, Purebloods, mixed, and Squibs

All tied round in baby bibs

They drool, they cry, for mom they call

And old man Filtch is the worst of all

"That's a bit touchy, even for him," George whispered to Hermione. "Seen as how half of us don't have a mother."

"I don't think he pays much mind to such things," Hermione whispered back in disgust.

Peeves swooped down and hovered before Wraith as the group walked on.

Tiny little angry sprite

Walks along by candle light

She can't so much—

This latest jab was cut short as Wraith abruptly drew her bow and fired a bolt of red energy, taking off Peeves' head. It reappeared a moment later, and pesky poltergeist whirled away, muttering obscenities as he disappeared through one of the walls.

George could hardly contain his laughter and shock. "Tiny little angry sprite, indeed."

"You have no idea, brother," Altimus assured.

When they reached the gargoyle on the seventh floor, Killian turned to Altimus and Wraith. "Wait here," he said.

"What's the password?" Hermione asked Filtch.

"Pompous graduates," Filtch answered. The gargoyle began to spin, revealing a spiraling staircase that led up to the Headmaster's office. "I control the passwords during the summers. Went and had it changed special for your visit. Although, I admit that I rather like this little one," he added with a glance toward Wraith, "taking it to Peeves as she did. Bit of bite in her, eh?"

Wraith stared daggers at Filtch as Hermione narrowed her eyes at the incredulous caretaker.

"On and up you go, then," he said with a gesture up the stairs. "And mind you don't touch what doesn't belong to you. Headmaster is not partial to pesky paws on his personal items."

Quietly, Harry, Hermione, Killian, and Draco ascended the stairs. The door atop was unlocked. They entered and glanced around the dusty office, cluttered with various tomes, tapestries, and items of one magical sort or another. The walls were filled with dozens of portraits of Headmasters past, all sleeping soundly.

With a flick of her wand, Hermione lit several candles. The illuminating glow revealed Harry standing before a slumbering Dumbledore, staring silently at the silver-haired Headmaster. Killian, on the other hand, was across the room. His focus fell on the dark, stern, and ever distant Severus Snape.

For a time after the second war, Snape's title as Headmaster was revoked and erased. It was Harry who persuaded the Ministry to reinstate the former head of Slytherin posthumously and, as such, hang his portrait in the Headmaster's office where it belonged.

Killian, much like Harry, stared up at his mentor with a guarded expression of loss and regret. Draco joined Killian's side, touching him on the shoulder and guiding him quietly back to the group. Whatever words were exchanged, they were not audible beyond their ears.

"Professor?" Harry whispered cautiously.

Dumbledore slowly opened his eyes and shook a bit of clarity into his head. "Harry?" has greeted warmly, if not curiously. He looked to Hermione next. "And Miss Granger? It is still Miss Granger, is it not?"

Hermione felt a knot rise in her stomach. She was glad that George was not in the room to answer the question for her. "Professor, I'm afraid we don't have much time for conversation," she said, avoiding the question entirely. "We need your help."

Dumbledore smiled. "Of course. Although I'm not entirely certain in what way I can be of service." He suddenly noticed the two other standing with Harry and Hermione. "Killian Finn and Draco Malfoy?" He took a deep breath as another warm smile beamed across the old Headmaster's face. "I am quite proud of the company you two have come to keep."

"It's merely work related," Draco assured. Harry and Hermione both rolled their eyes at the comment.

"Even so," Dumbledore went on. "There was a day, not so long ago, when I would not have believed I would see Slytherins standing with Gryffindors."

"Perhaps it is Gryffindors standing with Slytherins," came a drawling voice from the shadows.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore conceded with a glance to Snape's portrait. The banter, it seemed, had awoken the former Portions master. "Either way, it pleases me to see."

"Quiet down!" came another voice, bitter and agitated. "Some of us are trying to sleep!"

"Calm yourself, Armando," Snape acknowledged the portrait of Professor Dippet dismissively. "You have slept quite extensively this summer."

"And loudly," Dumbledore whispered to Harry with a wink. "So tell me," he went on, redirecting the conversation, "How may I be of service to you?"

"We need information, Professor," Hermione said. "Information about dark artifacts."

"What sort of dark artifacts are we speaking of?" Dumbledore asked with a tinge of concern in his voice.

"The sort that allow their possessors to speak with the dead," Hermione answered.

Dumbledore looked to Harry. "Excluding the obvious, I presume?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry assured. "We're looking for something that is more easily accessible. Something that one would not have to search for, so to speak."

"Ah," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his painted chair and pondering for a moment. "What would be your thoughts on this, Severus?"

"There are many artifacts that claim such powers," Snape answered coolly. "Impossible to name them all."

"We're not looking for all of them," Killian spoke up. "We need only to find the ones that fulfill their claim."

"And for what purpose do you seek such dark magic," Snape asked of Killian, his glare upon his former student and apprentice.

"To protect it," Harry spoke in Killian's defense.

"From whom?" Snape asked on.

"Gaius Mideus," Harry answered. "He seeks such artifacts to communicate with a fallen disciple."

Harry's answer brought gasps from many of the other portraits who had awoken and were eavesdropping on the conversation. Snape looked to Dumbledore, who shook his head in return.

"So the Exile has returned," Dumbledore finally began, regretfully. "This is disappointing news indeed. However, I am afraid that we do not have the answer you seek."

Hermione was fearful of this. George's idea had been a clever one on principle. However, even though the portraits held a likeness of the individuals they represented, they were not ghosts. There was only a portion of the person's life held eternally within the paint and canvas. It was highly unlikely that a memory of such obscure information would be held within such a limited medium.

"So we're right back where we started, then?" Draco asked in frustration.

"Not necessarily," Dumbledore answered with another warm smile.

"Just because we do not possess the information you require," Snape explained curtly, "that does not necessarily indicate that the answer is not contained within these walls."

Dumbledore looked beyond the group. All turned to follow his eyes and saw a glass cabinet that contained a shallow stone basin carved with runes and strange symbols.

"Is that …?" Draco began.

"It's a Pensieve," Harry answered.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Eye of Infinitio

_* A portion of the dialogue was taken from JK Rowling's HBP and reinterpreted for this chapter._

_- The Eye of Infinitio -_

"A Pensieve?" Draco asked, seemingly shocked at the idea. "There's a Pensieve at Hogwarts?"

Harry smiled. "It's been here a long time."

Hermione knew that Harry had used the Pensieve often when they attended Hogwarts, under the guidance of Dumbledore, of course. Draco, however, was not privy to such knowledge. Killian did not seem as surprised. As always, he hid his emotions well. Forever a Slytherin.

"And how, exactly, did this pass the Ministry raids?" Draco asked on.

"It's never been on any list of contrabands," Hermione explained simply.

"A magical item that can be used to revisit anyone's memories, offered or stolen," Draco continued, "and it never made any list of contrabands? If that's not an object of the Dark Arts, then nothing is."

Draco had a point. Although Dumbledore's intentions with the Pensieve were not nefarious, nor, presumably, have been the intentions of any Headmasters since, an object of such capabilities could certainly be dangerous in the wrong hands. But that was a discussion for another day. On this day, contraband or not, the Pensieve seemed to be a solution rather than a problem.

"So we're looking for a memory then?" Harry thought aloud as he glanced through the many vials of cloudy mists that filled the shelves aside the Pensieve.

"I find that mine have always been rather fruitful," Dumbledore offered, "if I may be so bold," he clarified with a smile.

"These are all of the current Headmaster," Hermione pointed out as she searched alongside Harry.

Snape rolled his eyes dismissively. "Must everything be a maze or riddle with you?" he asked of Dumbledore. He looked to Killian. "Behind the desk, third bookshelf from the right."

Killian walked across the office, behind the desk, and scanned the bookshelves. They were filled with various items of no particular value to their search. The third bookshelf from the right, however, differed from the rest. It was filled, top to bottom, with nothing but books.

On the seventh shelf from the bottom sat a particularly worn tome, _Ravages of the Mind_. Killian ran his fingers along the spine. The bookshelf receded into the wall and slid aside, revealing a dark chamber beyond.

Hermione, Harry, and Draco joined Killian as he stepped inside, their wands alit. The chamber was cluttered with dust and cobwebs covering dozens of shelves holding hundreds of vials.

"Had a lot on his mind, did he?" Draco mused aloud.

"Apparently more than I thought," Harry said, his eyes widening as he perused the chamber. "Do we even know what we're looking for?"

"I imagine we'll know when we find it," Killian answered.

They each took a different section of the chamber and began to search through the vials, reading the brief descriptions scribed on each label. Many of them had to do with the Wizarding Wars against Voldemort. Some, however, seemed much more ordinary. Conversations with friends, professors at Hogwarts, students, and the like.

Hermione came across a particular memory that caught her eye. Killian Finn – First year Slytherin – House placement apprehension. She grasped the vial and looked to Killian. He was dutifully searching the other side of the chamber. She glanced back at the label, wiping the dust away. A part of her desperately wanted to dive into the Pensieve with the memory she held in her hand, to see the boy before his life changed forever, the innocence that had long since faded.

But it was wrong. It was not her memory. She had no right. With a regretful sigh, she placed the vial back on the shelf and moved on.

"I think I may have one," Draco announced, presenting another dusty vial.

Harry turned to Draco. "What did you find?"

"The Eye of Infinitio/Spiorad Druma – Severus Snape," Draco answered.

"The Spiorad Druma?" Hermione echoed, looking to Killian. "Plunders said that it was a fraud."

"He did," Killian agreed. "However, Dumbledore found it important enough to keep his memory of it."

"Snape's memory of it," Draco corrected. "This one's not Dumbledore's."

Moments later, the four stood before the Pensieve, watching as Draco poured the contents of the vial into the stone basin. When the memory settled, they entered.

Slowly, images came into focus. Buildings of brick and wood, a cobbled road that snaked away in several directions, and … a sign hanging from an archway. It was not as tattered and worn as Hermione remembered, but it was the same. Raturian Square. She looked to Killian. He had noticed it, as well.

From the darkness, two figures emerged and began down the road. These figures were also not as worn as Hermione remembered, but she recognized them. Severus Snape, several years before he came to teach at Hogwarts and a gritty looking man in dirty overalls, carrying a toolbox.

"Mr. Dourlish?" Hermione mumbled under her breath.

"What?" Harry asked quizzically.

"They're moving," Draco announced, allowing for Hermione to dismiss Harry's question.

Draco and Harry started off after Snape and Dourlish. Hermione and Killian followed, remaining a few steps behind. There was not a word spoken between them, but she knew that Killian felt uneasy. His eyes wandered across the buildings as they walked on. She remembered what happened on these very streets many years after this memory. And she knew where they were headed. There could be no other place … Saarla Manor.

Snape and Dourlish soon made their way to the steps of the building that nearly claimed Killian's life during his seventh year at Hogwarts. Without hesitation, they entered.

"What is this place?" Harry asked.

"Saarla Manor," Killian answered as all four followed inside.

"It even more odd than the Burrow," Harry observed, examining the strange architecture that seemed to defy the laws of gravity in places.

"Are you certain you have everything you require?" Snape asked of Dourlish, standing before a set of stairs beyond the foyer.

"Got it all right here," Dourlish confirmed, gesturing to his toolbox. "Not to worry."

Without a word, Snape began up the stairway. Dourlish shrugged and followed.

"Where are they going?" Draco asked, glancing upwards.

"I don't know," Harry answered, looking up as well, "but these seem to go up forever."

"Why so hesitant?" Killian asked coolly as he walked past them, following Snape and Dourlish. "It's only a memory."

He knew where they were heading. Hermione knew as well.

Further and further up they went up the winding staircase, with each floor exiting into a labyrinth of halls falling into ruin. The steps themselves became rickety and narrow with each passing tier.

When they were near the top, Hermione noticed a particular step that was rotting to pieces. "Not quite a missing step just yet," she mumbled to herself.

"Not quite," Killian agreed in a whisper, overhearing her audible thought.

The final flight of stairs became so narrow and steep, they could be mistaken for a ladder. At the top of theses stairs was a small hatch built into the ceiling.

"Aw'right," Dourlish said to Snape. "Go on and do your thing. I'll wait here."

Snape ascended the final steps and disappeared through the hatch. Harry, Draco, Killian, and Hermione followed.

Once through, they were astonished at the sight. The attic space was littered with thousands of dark artifacts, artifacts that any Death Eater would scarcely like to have found in their possession during one of the Ministry's raids after the first war.

"Look at this place," Harry gasped, walking though the stacks of macabre objects. "It's like the Room of Requirement where we found Rowena's diadem."

"Only a bit darker," Draco added. "I imagine my father has an item or two in here … or did, when this memory took place."

"You know where we are?" Harry asked.

"Not exactly," Draco admitted. "But my father once told me that there was a place where wizards hid away anything that had to do with the Dark Arts after the end of the first war. I imagine this is it."

"Then why is Snape here?" Harry asked on as the future Potions master strode among the clutter.

"He was a Death Eater, Harry," Hermione surmised. "It's likely he had objects to get rid of as well. Whether he was working for the Order or not, dark artifacts were illegal and carried a heavy penalty."

Snape suddenly stopped, bringing a silence to the conversation. He removed a small object from his beneath his robes. A wooden cylinder with a sheet of leather pulled tight over the top and bound by copper hooks.

"Is that the Spiorad Druma?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Killian answered simply, his eyes on his former mentor.

Snape placed the Druma amongst the litter. He then turned and walked to a dark corner of the attic. There he removed a second item. It was about the size of an apple, spherical, and crystal.

"I'm going to say that's the Eye of Infinitio," Draco asserted.

Snape removed his wand and waved it over the Eye of Infinitio. Instantly, the crystal sphere morphed into a tattered shoelace. He cast the mundane fastener into the corner amongst a pile of dust and debris. Another flick of his wand resulted in several orb of lights appearing and slamming into the walls, floor, and ceiling, bathing them in a blue glow before they returned to their normal appearance.

"He's sealing the room," Hermione said.

"Everything but that hatch," Harry pointed out with a gesture to the open space in the floor.

Again, Snape waved his wand. This time, two dark and decrepit figures emerged from nothingness into being. Familiar figures to all in the room. Figures that brought forth a coldness within one's soul that could not be warmed by the fiercest of fires. Dementors.

As the tasked guards of Azkaban prison swayed in the air, Snape exited the hatch. Draco, Harry, Hermione, and Killian followed quickly. So quickly, in fact, that they passed right through Snape on their way down the ladder-esque flight of stairs.

Snape closed the hatch and turned to Dourlish. "You will have only a few moments to secure the hinges."

"Or what?" Dourlish asked quizzically. "What's going on up there?"

"Nothing of your concern," Snape answered as he descended the stairs.

"Of course it's not," Dourlish agreed with a smile. "Just a simple working man here. No need to get all up in everyone's business, right?"

Snape simply looked away in disgust. Dourlish ascended the stairs and removed a lustrous silver hinge etched with intricate carvings from his toolbox along with an odd looking screwdriver with several heads.

Draco's mouth fell agape, his skin growing more pale than normal as Dourlish began to install the hinge. He looked to Killian. "You've been here before, haven't you?"

"Yes," Killian answered with a hint of reluctance.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, looking between Killian and Draco.

"Nothing," Hermione interjected. "It's nothing."

"It's something," Harry protested. "Otherwise these two wouldn't be—"

"That hinge was used to repair the Vanishing Cabinet that allowed the Death Eaters access to Hogwarts," Killian cut in, his voice distant and unemotional.

"What?" Harry appeared to be caught off guard. "That hinge right there?" He looked to Draco, then back to Killian. "So you … you retrieved that hinge for Draco? You were … helping him?"

"Harry, it's not what you think," Hermione offered. She could feel the tension in the air.

"He didn't know," Draco spoke up in Killian's defense. "He was merely asked to get something for me. He had no notion as to what it was for. What happened that night was my fault and mine alone."

Killian gaze fell to the floor. "You do not have the power to cleanse me of my sins, Draco."

Dourlish finished his work and ascended the stairs under the watchful eyes of Snape. As he did, he faded away. Snape soon faded as well. The walls began to weather and more dust and cobwebs grew from the corners. On the floor, a cold and lifeless body appeared.

"Who is that?" Draco asked as he took a step back.

"Mr. Dourlish," Killian answered.

Before anyone could respond, Snape reappeared. This time, he was much more recognizable as the professor at Hogwarts, carrying his wand at the ready as he cautiously ascended the stairs and entered through the now splintered hatch.

Once they were all back in the attic, they noticed that it was completely empty. All of the dark artifacts had been removed. Hermione remembered Dourlish telling her and Killian that it was unlikely that anything was still in that old hiding place when they were there to retrieve the Barrier Hinge. It appeared he was incorrect. Nothing had been removed yet. The presence of the Dementors confirmed it. Whatever had been taken, it was taken after the night that she and Killian were there.

Snape wandered over to the same corner in which he had tossed the old shoelace. He sifted through the dust and filth, finding it there, right where he had left it. No one would have paid any attention to something so common and worthless. He waved his wand over the lace and it changed back into the shiny crystal sphere it had once been.

Suddenly, everything went dark. When the room came back into focus, Harry, Hermione, Killian, and Draco were standing on Hogwarts' grounds near the edge of the woods. Dumbledore was speaking with Snape, who held the Eye of Infinitio in his hand.

"I see you have recovered the Eye, Severus," the whimsical Headmaster said as he toyed with Marvolo Guant's ring on his decaying hand. "And what of the other artifacts?"

"Gone," Snape answered. "All of them."

"The Druma?" Dumbledore asked on.

"That would be included in the definition of all," Snape drawled.

"So it is gone?" Dumbledore concluded.

"For now," Snape agreed. "I imagine it will eventually turn up in Knockturn Alley or some other slum of a High Street. No matter," he went on. "It is useless without the Eye of Infinitio, offering nothing more than inaudible mumbles. The true power is in the Eye."

"True power indeed. One you once stole, if memory serves correct," Dumbledore mused. "And a power that must be hidden, I'm afraid."

"It will be done," Snape assured. "However, while I have your ear," he went on, "I must again protest against the course we are taking. When at Saarla Manor, amongst everything that was missing, I saw that a Barrier Hinge had also been taken."

Hermione and Killian exchanged glances. Draco merely hung his head. Hermione could see that he did not want hear any more.

Dumbledore brought his hand to his chin, stroking his beard in thought. "A Barrier Hinge? That is an odd item to pilfer. It has little street value, and no particular offensive magic. You believe this to be important, Severus?"

"I have no certainty on the matter," Snape answered. "I merely find it unsettling and coincidental. As you said, an odd item to pilfer. I would like to question Draco—"

"You will do no such thing," Dumbledore quipped. "It may force his hand in a manner that does not work to our advantage."

"His hand needs to be forced," Snape persisted. "Just in case it slipped your brilliant mind, you have little time remaining."

Snape's word seemed to cut at Harry. His eyes watered slightly as he watched the scene before him.

"Have faith, Severus," Dumbledore dismissed with smile.

"Faith?" Snape snapped back. "Has it occurred to you that perhaps you are taking too much for granted? That there is more than just your precious faith at stake? That perhaps I no longer wish to do what you have asked of me?"

Dumbledore looked to the ring on his finger once again with a heavy sigh. "It matter not what you wish, I'm afraid. You have agreed. Now I believe you have an dark artifact to secure."

The memory began to fade, voices became garbled, and a moment later, Harry, Draco, Hermione, and Killian were standing in the candle lit confines of the Headmaster's office. All looked to the portrait of Professor Snape, who looked down upon them with his customary scowl.

"I think we need to talk," Harry said.


	6. Chapter 6 - A Passer's Soul

_- A Passer's Soul -_

"I can only assume that your insolence indicates that you have discovered something," Snape said, his hands folded calmly across his waist.

"In a manner of sorts, yes," Harry said. "I don't suppose you know anything about the Spiorad Druma and the Eye of Infinitio?"

Snape looked to Dumbledore, whose portrait seemed to have fallen asleep. With a roll of his eyes, he redirected back to Harry, Hermione, Draco, and Killian.

"I do," he answered simply. "Powerful objects of the Dark Arts."

"Didn't think to mention that before we took a dive in to the Pensieve?" Draco asked.

"I did not find it to be of importance," Snape answered.

"How could you find that to be unimportant?" Harry scoffed. "We asked you about dark artifacts. There's pretty direct link!"

"As I mentioned before," Snape quipped, "there are far too many to name them all. Why then, would you believe that I would attempt it by naming the ones I possess knowledge of?"

Another aggravated hush emanated from the portrait of Dippet. Snape, as before, curtly dismissed him. The old Potions master's manner of calm never wavered. For Hermione, it felt much like being back in school. As then, it appeared that Snape wished to hold onto his secrets.

"Gaius Mideus is in possession of the Spiorad Druma," Killian spoke up. "Professor, if you know anything …"

Hermione heard a tone in Killian's voice she had not heard in longer than she could remember. A strong, yet submissive tone. A pupil's respect for his mentor. She could even see it in his face as he looked up at Snape's portrait. Killian was still the student.

"The Spiorad Druma is useless without the Eye," Snape assured, looking down his nose at Killian with a glint of pride in his eyes. "The Exile will find himself disappointed with it."

"But if Lord Mideus has obtained the Druma," Hermione reasoned, "logic says that he will seek the Eye."

"He may," Snape agreed. "However, I find it exceeding unlikely that he will obtain it."

"You've hidden it?" Harry asked.

Snape glared at Harry before answering. "With exceptional skill."

"All lost things are eventually found," Harry offered. "You understand why we need you to tell us—"

"Do you really believe that I would veil the location of such an object within the confines of a portrait?" Snape drawled coolly. "You disappoint, Mr. Potter."

It was an unfortunate truth. One would have to be a fool to allow for such information to be imprinted within their portrait. Snape was no fool.

"We're not going to find anything here," Hermione said to Harry, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"No," Harry agreed reluctantly. "We're not."

Draco mumbled under his breath as he and Killian turned toward the exit.

"Are you still the promising, albeit unrefined and foul, student that I recall from our sessions?" Snape called to Killian.

Killian turned back to Snape. His eyes narrowed in thought. Without a word, he turned away and left with Draco close behind.

Harry and Hermione slowly followed. As they reached the door, Harry turned back to the portrait of Dumbledore, now sleeping soundly with a peaceful expression etched into the aged and weary Headmaster's face.

"Goodnight, Professor," he whispered. With a sigh, he and Hermione headed down the spiraling staircase.

. . .

Believing it was best to get themselves organized, the group headed off to the Great Hall with George, Altimus, and Wraith. Filtch led the way, his eyebrows still smoldering from a jinx that was the result of an inappropriate comment Hogwarts' caretaker made towards Wraith while Harry, Hermione, Killian, and Draco were in the Headmaster's office.

Once there, Hargid appeared, jolly and excited to see the former students. He arranged to have plenty of food and drink for the unexpected guests. Soon, the mood became lively as the group decided that there was no need to push things. They were far less likely to find answers if they were tired and hungry.

"This one 'ere," Hagrid said, thumbing to George, " and 'is brother, God rest 'im … Never seen a better pair fer mixing and matching mischief in one sort or another. What, with yer peddlin' wares from that floatin' joke shop. Got that Umbridge toad a wee bit on the agitated side, dint'it?"

"Some of our best work. Although, we had some help with that, right Finn?" George insisted with a hearty pat to Killian's back.

Killian did not answer. He simply smiled. It was a slight smile, but a smile nonetheless. Hermione, sitting alone and away from the group, could tell that it was a forced attempt to appear as though he was part of the group. In reality, she knew his mind was elsewhere.

"I knew about that joke shop," Draco insisted. "Came this close to catching you down at the boat house."

The comment brought forth a round of laughter as George teased about Draco's smoldering eyebrows that night; a result from the jinxed chocolate frog trading cards.

The group continued to banter on about random memories of their days at Hogwarts as they ate and drank their fill. Hermione did not feel much like conversation. Quietly, she got up and left the Great Hall. She stood outside the doors and leaned against the wall with a sigh.

"So what manner of fool are you?" came a cold and concise voice from the shadows.

Startled, Hermione turned and saw that Wraith was standing only a few feet away.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said. "I thought I was alone."

"I overheard what Verity asked of you," Wraith continued. "You did not answer. Why?"

"I'm not sure that she was expecting an answer," Hermione explained.

"But, I am," Wraith pursued, her deadpan expression a bit unnerving as she stared at Hermione. "I am curious. She believes Killian to be a fool. She believes, in some manner, that you are a fool, as well."

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to banish her emotions. She had left to the Great Hall to escape the feelings that were tearing her apart. Now, she was cornered and being forced to face them head on.

"You are his flower," Wraith continued after a moment of silence. "Yet, you are with another. This is something that I do not understand."

"Why don't you ask him?" Hermione snapped, much harsher than she had intended.

Wraith looked at Hermione, cocking her head quizzically. "He does not speak of such things. Nor, it seems, do you. But he obsesses over your mark. No words are required to express what that means. Still, you remain with this Ron, of whom I know nothing beyond your marriage to him. He must be someone very important to you to remained bonded to him in such a manner."

Another moment of silence followed.

"Ron …" Hermione began, pausing as a knot arose in her throat. "I love Ron … I do … love him. But we …" she stopped again. Her emotions welled, stealing her breath as she tried to put them into words. "We have not been as husband and wife for some time. We … I … have not been able to. I follow my heart … I cannot help it. I have fought it. I have fought it with every breath I take." She looked at Wraith, who continued to stare at her with the blank and curious expression she wore so well. "My heart is in two places, and my husband knows. We have not spoken of it. But he knows that there is something … something that is pulling us apart."

It was the first time that Hermione had admitted it out loud. The first time that she acknowledged that while she and Ron shared a family, shared a home, shared a bed, there was a divide between them.

She could blame it on many things. In the years since they wed, she had succeeded in her career, excelling in everything she did. Harry had moved up as well. Ron … Ron was still Ron. He was not the motivated sort. He was happy to be whoever he was. With Hermione and Harry becoming names within the Ministry, moving into positions far senior to Ron, one could easily believe that to be the reason for the growing tension and distance in their marriage. But that was not it. Not entirely. Hermione knew it. Her heart knew it. Her soul knew it.

Wraith narrowed her eyes. "A heart is merely a muscle," the odd witch began. "It can be strong, it can be weak. It can live, it can die. But it cannot be split in two."

Hermione looked away. A thousand images flashed through her mind, slashing at her with merciless precision. "Do you know of love?" she asked, wiping the inevitable tear from her eye.

"I do not," Wraith admitted. "My heart died with my soul. But I have seen the torment that love can cause. I do not understand why such a thing is sought with such desperation."

"No heart or soul?" Hermione mused, looking back at Wraith. "I can see why you are so loyal to Killian."

"We are the same in many ways."

"You are," Hermione agreed. "And I wish that you were not. You had a wonderful life once."

Wraith's eyes widened with a look of betrayal as she glanced back toward the doors of the Great Hall.

"Killian did not tell me," Hermione assured. "I came across a file buried deep in the archives at the Ministry. The Passer Family. Like the Finns … murdered by Death Eaters. The daughter, Angelina, was never found. Golden hair, crystal blue eyes … innocent and forgotten."

"Angelina Passer is dead," Wraith insisted.

"She doesn't have to be," Hermione offered.

Wraith looked to the floor, then back to Hermione. "Perhaps …" she agreed with reluctance. "But a heart needs not be divided either. Sometimes, life make such things inevitable. It appears that we both may be fools."

"It appears so," Hermione conceded with a weak smile.

Wraith's expression remained as cool as ever. Hermione expected nothing less.

"I think I'm going to go for a walk," Hermione said as she collected herself. "I need to clear my head." She began down the corridor leading away from the Great Hall.

"You are his only weakness," Wraith called after her.

Hermione stopped and turned around. She did not know how to respond, or if a response was even necessary. His only weakness? Did she really have that much of a hold on him?

"I'm just tired of regret," Hermione said with a sigh. "I keep waiting for it to pass … but it doesn't go away."

"Regret is part of the human condition," Wraith said simply. "It helps us feel, makes us strong, allows us to grow. Life without regret is no manner of life at all." Before Hermione could filter the thought, Wraith spoke up again. "I would like to ask a favor, it I may."

"Of course," Hermione assured.

"The file you spoke of …" Wraith began, "… I would like it to disappear."

The last bit of evidence of the life of Angelina Passer … to disappear. Like her heart. Like her soul. This shell of a young woman that stood before Hermione … Another lost life … Another casualty from a war that had long since passed. Now, nothing more than a weapon in the dawn of new war.

Hermione nodded. Wraith bowed her head and returned to the Great Hall, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts. Her thoughts went immediately to him. Was it her heart that was truly torn, or was it her conscience?

She turned away and began to walk with no particular destination in mind. She merely needed to be alone.


	7. Chapter 7 - Unrefined and Foul

_- Unrefined and Foul -_

Every step Hermione took through the old stone corridors, every breath that she inhaled, brought back memories of her youth. The darkness, the quiet, reminiscent of times less complicated … odd as that seemed.

She had so many things on her mind. They were distracting to the task at hand, but there was little she could do extinguish them. After all, she was only human. Flawed and full of emotions. Only recently had she become aware of the truth in that. Everyone wants to believe that they are perfect. However, perfection does not exist; regardless of what Killian had told her so many years ago.

Walking along, Hermione visited areas that brought warmth to her heart. The entrance to the Gryffindor dormitories, the library, the halls lined with classrooms where she was, once upon a time, a young and promising witch. The memories were bittersweet and tainted with the sting of what could have been.

After a while she found herself in another memory. A fond memory. But, like the others, masked in heartache. She stood at the top of a staircase that descended to a floor with halls exiting in the four corners. Slowly, she made her way down and looked beneath the stairs, unconsciously hoping to see the handsome stranger she had met after the Yule Ball during her fourth year. Sadly, she found nothing but dust and stone.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "What manner of fool _am _I?"

"Still talking to yourself, I see," came a voice from atop the stairs.

Hermione whirled around and saw Killian looking down from above. The vision. So reminiscent. However, she managed to control the emotions. She needed to be strong. Stronger than she had been as of late, that is.

"And I see you're still following me around," she said with a smile. "Just like in school."

"If I recall," Killian corrected, "it was you who appeared to be following me. This was my area of seclusion during those times," he added with a grin. He descended the stairs and looked around. "I remember this place well. I spent many an hour sitting right about where you are now, condemning these walls that surround us."

"You really hated it here, didn't you?" Hermione asked.

"You know I did," Killian answered regretfully. "For quite a while. And then I met you. After that, I had no need for this isolated corridor."

Hermione turned away from Killian, fidgeting with her fingers, her eyes on the floor.

"I almost cursed you the first moment I saw you," she said, smiling to herself as she recalled drawing her wand on the boy who startled her in the darkness and refused to leave her alone with her frustrations.

"I'm not certain that you didn't," Killian followed.

Hermione turned back and went to him, finding his embrace.

_I want to stay here_, she thought to herself.

Forget everything in the world and stay with her Slytherin until time itself faded into nothingness. It would have been so easy when they were younger to make such a decision. Now, things were different. Ron, her children … everything was different.

"I never thanked you," Hermione said as she rested her head against Killian.

"For what?" he asked.

"For my children," she answered. "Say what you will to Arthur, but I know you knew they were there. I know that you saved them."

"Harry was there as well," Killian dismissed, seeming to distance himself.

"Harry is always there," Hermione argued. "You … it's different."

Killian took a deep breath. Hermione felt his muscles tensing and releasing as he held her.

"Your children …" he began and paused. "They're beautiful."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, feeling Killian tense even further. "They are."

Killian pulled back, placing his hand on Hermione's cheek. His eyes were riddled with doubt, confusion, sorrow … emotions not befitting him.

"They're good people, Hermione," he said at last.

"Who?" Hermione asked, trying to see beyond the emotional veil that Killian so often hid behind.

"Arthur, Molly, George … Ron," Killian answered. "I do not wish to create more enemies. I do not wish to cause more pain, more—"

"Stop," Hermione spoke up, placing her hand over his. "Please stop …" _You are his only weakness._ Wraith's words echoed in her head. "Killian, there is so much that you don't know," she went on. "So many things that have happened …"

Killian turned, attempting to pull away from Hermione. As he did, she reached for him, refusing to relinquish her grip.

"Look at me," she said to him. "Killian, please … look at me."

He reluctantly obliged, albeit seemingly with great difficulty.

"This is not your fault! We …" Hermione stumbled over her words, "… _we _are not your fault. Things happened. We cannot change that. You have to stop punishing yourself for sins that were not of your making."

"I cannot change who I am," Killian argued, still seeming distant.

"You are not what you believe yourself to be, what others believe you to be," Hermione argued in return. "I know you, Killian. I have known you forever. And I don't care what Professor Snape said, you are not _unrefined_ or _foul._"

Killian looked away, but did not pull from Hermione as he had before. This time he seemed distracted, contemplative. His mind was racing. Hermione could see it.

"What is it?" she asked curiously. "What's wrong?"

"Come with me," he answered, taking Hermione by the hand and quickly heading back up the staircase.

"Where are we going?" she asked as she followed along.

"I just thought of something," he answered simply.

. . .

Moments later, they were standing outside the Potions master's storage closet. Hermione had not been in that part of the castle since the night the Death Eaters attacked. Her last memory of that particular area was watching Killian emerge from the dust and debris after he blew the storage closet's door from its hinges.

"What are we doing here?" Hermione asked.

"Something that Professor Snape said," Killian said. "It had been bothering me all night. Then, just now, with you …" he looked at Hermione, grinning, "… it came to me."

"What did?" Hermione asked on, still thoroughly lost.

"When I was his student, Professor Snape had many colorful adjectives that he used when referring to myself or my abilities," Killian explained. "Unrefined and foul, however, were not among those on the list. Potions, or to be more precise, many of the ingredients held within, _can_ be described as such."

"So you think that Snape was trying to tell you something?" Hermione reasoned.

"Yes," Killian answered, "I believe he was."

"Then why didn't he just tell us outright?" Hermione asked.

"As has been said, it is just his portrait," Killian answered, opening the storage closet with a wave of his staff. "I'm fairly certain that he does not know what he is trying to tell me, just that it's important. Perhaps separate bits of memory were merely coming together … the middle, without the beginning or the end."

"Let's find the end then," Hermione said as she stepped into the dusty old closet.

As when Snape was at Hogwarts, the closet was lined with shelf after ascending shelf of dusty vials, boxes, and other containment devices holding everything from Horntail Tongue to Viscous Feribull Venom. There was a semblance of order amongst the chaos, but the logic in it resided in the mind of the current Potions master.

"What are we looking for?" Hermione asked as she and Killian searched the closet.

"Something unrefined and foul, I suppose," Killian thought aloud.

As they searched, bringing a rise of dust in the cluttered space, Hermione noticed that Killian seemed a bit different. Younger might have been a better description. He was grinning. But not in the way he had become known for. Most people who witnessed that particular expression these days were about to feel the Hunter's wrath. No, as Killian scanned the shelves that lay before him, his expression was calm, daresay happy.

"What do you find so amusing?" Hermione asked as she sifted through some vials of Rancid Ragweed.

"I was just reminiscing," Killian answered, shrugging off his grin and continuing with the task at hand.

"About a storage closet?" Hermione asked with a laugh.

"I spent many an hour with Professor Snape, organizing and labeling some of these very vials," Killian answered, pausing a moment as another grin peeked out the corner of his mouth. "We had some very interesting conversations within these confines. Many of you, actually."

"Me?" Hermione stopped and turned to Killian.

"Nothing of ill nature," he assured. "I just enjoyed getting him riled up from time to time. I wish you could have witnessed his expression when I told him that I planned to marry …" He cut himself off, his grin quickly fading away.

Hermione was not so quick to let it go. "You told Professor Snape that you were going to marry me?" Her heart felt as though it was being crushed by unseen hands.

"It was a long time ago," Killian answered with marked tension in his voice. "At the time, I thought that the war was over for me. I thought that …" his voice faded off.

Hermione wanted to press on, but knew that she could not. Her heart could not take it, nor could his. Not now. Instead, she quietly returned to the shelves before her. Nothing seemed to stand out. While it was not exactly the normal things one would find in their cupboard; for a potions closet, it was rather mundane.

Just then, Hermione came across a small green glass container. The container itself did not seem odd. It was the label that caught her eye. _Unrefined Essence of Water Fowl._

"Unrefined and fowl," she said under her breath. "I think I may have found it!"

Killian joined Hermione and examined the container. "This is an odd ingredient," he observed. "Have you ever come across a potion that called for it?"

"No," Hermione answered. "Although I'm sure that I'm not familiar with every mixture in existence."

"Nor am I," Killian admitted. "However, I am not even certain what the Essence of a Water Fowl would be. It is rather general, don't you think?" he went on. "What manner of fowl is it? I have never seen an ingredient that was so nonspecific."

Hermione took the glass container in question and carefully opened the lid. Inside they found a flower. Clearly this was not the essence of anything. At first glance it appeared to be little more than a withered and dried lily of a sort. When Hermione reached inside to take the flower, however, she noticed something scribed delicately on the underside of the petals.

"_L__umen iacio procul terminus verto_," she read aloud.

"My Latin is a bit rusty," Killian said. "If it were Gaelic perhaps …"

Hermione's eyes danced across the words. Her Latin was not exactly up to par either.

"Roughly," she began slowly, "is says _the eye lay at the end of the turn_. That's oddly cryptic. The end of the turn? That could mean anything."

"Not anything," Killian corrected as he pondered the puzzle. "It would have meant something to Professor Snape. Something very specific. End of the turn," he whispered in thought. "End of the turn, end of the turn …"

The answer suddenly sprung up in Hermione's head. It was so simple she almost laughed aloud. "Spinner's End!"

"Spinner's End?" Killian echoed.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "There is no word for spinner in Latin, so he replaced it with _verto …_ to turn. Only he meant to turn around, not to turn a corner. To spin. The end of the turn … the end of the spin … Spinner's End. He hid the eye in his home."

Killian took the flower, examining the words. He then looked to Hermione, the same reminiscent grin appearing on his face.

"You are wonderfully brilliant," he said.

"You were the one that brought us here," Hermione replied humbly. "I merely translated a dead language."

"I stand by what I said," Killian said as he handed the flower to Hermione.

She accepted it with a slight blush. It was not truly a flower for her, but she felt as though Killian meant more than for her to hold a piece of the puzzle. After all, simple flowers were always his sign of affection. Although this one was not in the form of folded paper, the emotions felt the same.

"We should find the others," Killian offered, taking Hermione's hand and guiding her to the door and she took in the aroma of the aged lily, still present after years of being hidden away in the dusty closet. It appeared that some things of beauty never fade.


	8. Chapter 8 - Oil and Canvas

_- Oil and Canvas -_

Hermione and Killian returned to the Great Hall and informed everyone of what they had discovered. The information was met with a mixture of doubt and curiosity. Even Hagrid, having witnessed some of the most bizarre events during his tenure at Hogwarts, appeared to question it.

"So," George pondered aloud, "what you're saying is that Snape hid this Eye of Infinitio in his home and left the only clue to its whereabouts in a dusty old jar stocked away in a storage closet."

"Where it's been sitting for years under the unknowing watch of several Potions masters that have come and gone?" Harry added. "That seems to be an awful risk."

"Professor Snape hid the clue in a jar labeled with an ingredient that was not likely to be used," Killian offered.

"And what if it got tossed?" Harry went on. "What if someone realized that the ingredients were useless and disposed of them? It doesn't make sense."

Killian could not argue Harry's logic. Nor could Hermione. Professor Snape was methodic and calculating. There must have been a reason. It was not in Snape's nature to be careless.

"Perhaps that was his intention all along," Hermione spoke up. "Professor Snape hid the Eye for a purpose. Maybe he left the clue for himself if he needed to retrieve the Eye. If he never retrieved it, and the clue was eventually lost or discarded, then the secret would be kept safe forever."

"But why would he leave a clue for himself?" Draco questioned with a raised eyebrow. "Wouldn't he already know where it was?"

"Probably left it for someone else then," Altimus theorized, scratching his head. "But who?"

It appeared that a light went on in Harry's head. "Dumbledore," he surmised.

"Not a bad wager there," Hagrid agreed. "But with the Headmaster's passin' and all … and then with Professor Snape passin' right shortly the followin' year …"

The hall grew silent. Hagrid's revelation brought back painful memories to all in the group. Years had passed, but the wounds remained fresh.

"If Professor Snape had not passed the information on again before …" Hermione caught herself, "…you know. That would explain why he hid that cryptic message about _unrefined_ and_ foul_ in his portrait. So they Eye could be found by someone clever enough to decipher its meaning."

"Makes sense enough for me," Altimus said. "So what's next?"

"We go to Spinner's End," Killian answered.

"To look for what, exactly?" Draco asked on. "A locked room? A safe? Do we even know if someone is living there now?"

"I imagine it will be more complicated than looking for a simple safe or room," Killian explained. "As for whether or not the house in inhabited—"

"Definitely not," Hagrid interjected. "Snape's old abode has been empty since he died. Had his will set up to provide fer housekeepin' and all, but strictly instructed fer it stay in his family. With no heirs to speak of … well, my guess is that you'll not be findin' anyone there."

"Why would he will for his house to remain vacant?" Hermione thought aloud.

"Unless he was hiding something there," Killian pointed out.

"All right," George said with another silly grin. "You've got me sold. So it's off to Spinner's End then, is it?"

"You should probably head home, George," Hermione said. "Angelina will be looking for you, I'm sure."

"Nonsense," George assured. "Business day isn't quite done yet, so I still have a few hours. Besides," he went on, "if your little gang is planning on getting into Snape's old dwellings, I can probably be of service to you." He stood up and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small canvas sack. "Come on then," he offered. "A little bit of flue powder and we'll be back at my shop in no time."

"Flue powder?" Hermione asked quizzically. "To your shop?"

Everyone looked at George with disbelief.

"That's right," he said proudly. "Had the network connect me up with Hogwarts a few years back. Off the record, of course. Makes it easier for students to purchase my wares discretely."

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" Draco asked.

"Didn't want to let the cat out of the bag, so to speak," George answered with a wink. "But since you're all planning on a bit of breaking and entering—also off the record, I'm sure—I figure that there's no harm in letting you all in on my little secret."

Killian walked over to George and gave him a pat on the back. Hermione gritted her teeth at his obvious approval of something that was clearly against all Ministry regulations. Still, it would be quicker than any other method of travel that was available to them, and time was short.

"Aw' right, then," Hagrid said as he stood and dusted crumbs from his beard and belly. "Seems like you kids have some business to take care of. Mind yourselves, won't yeh?"

"We will," Harry assured with a smile. "We'll see you soon, Hagrid."

"Of course you will," the old groundskeeper agreed. "Always welcomed here."

The group bid their farewells to Hagrid and quickly made their way to an operating flue within the network. With a handful of powder and a blast a flame, they left Hogwarts behind.

. . .

In the back room of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, George, Hermione, Harry, Draco, and the Triad shook the soot from their clothes, smelling of burnt wood and ash. George left the group and entered a door on the far wall. Hermione remembered it as the room where Killian had been laid up on a makeshift bed after their experience at Saarla Manor during her sixth year. When George returned, he was carrying a large black leather case.

"Here we go," he said as he set the case on a shelf, unfastened the clasps, and opened the lid. Inside were a variety of vials, pouches, and odd looking devices.

"What's all this?" Harry asked as he eyed the contents quizzically.

"New products," George answered proudly.

"Doesn't look much like joke shop material," Draco said as he examined a strange contraption with several small, thin blades and hooks protruding from its center.

"I'm thinking about offering a few new services," George explained. "Another of my little ventures that I'm handling off the record … and only to VIPs."

"George!" Hermione gasped. "Does your father know about this?"

"Of course not," George answered. "Do I look like a git? He'd have my head for sure. But it's good business and …" he glanced between Hermione and Killian, "… we all have our little secrets, don't we?"

Hermione held her tongue. What did George mean by that? She felt suddenly uncomfortable, even though George's smile was as warm and friendly as always.

"Veritaserum?" Draco asked, reading the label of one of the vials.

"That's for the screening process," George said with a wink. "Have to make sure that my clients of said wares are not of ill repute or intentions. Like I said, I'm not a git. Always erring on the side of caution and all. So," he continued as he closed the case, "off we go then, right?"

In a flash, the entire group Apparated to Spinner's End, just down the road from the house of Snape. The street, unfortunately, was not as deserted as they would have hoped. The sun was setting, and people were striding up and down the road, making their way home.

As casually as possible, they made their way to the front door of Snape's old home.

"_Alohomora_!" Hermione cast with an inconspicuous flick of her wand.

Nothing happened. Harry twisted the knob. The door was still locked tight.

"I imagine a simple charm won't be very effective here," Draco surmised, rolling his eyes. "We'll probably need the actual key to get in."

"I suppose I could try to bust it down," Altimus offered, flexing his shoulders as he sized the door up.

"It's made of solid mahogany," Wraith dismissed. "Oddly fancy for such a poor area. However, I would enjoy watching you crush your shoulder in a vain attempt at entry."

"Pleasant as always," Altimus conceded with a smirk toward the petite witch. "All right, then what's our play?"

George set down his case, opened the lid, and removed the same contraption that Draco was examining back at the joke shop.

"Step aside, if you will," he said as he placed the device alongside the door's keyhole.

Te device hovered before the door, swirling around as several of the blades and hooks protruded and recessed within its core. After a few seconds, the device stopped. A single blade and hook entered the keyhole, twisted, turned, and unlocked the door. George then replaced the objected within his case, closed it up, and pushed the door open.

"What was that?" Hermione asked, eyeing the area to be sure that no one was watching.

"A Dingle Key," George answered proudly. "Guaranteed to pick any lock, charmed or otherwise."

"Nice work, brother," Altimus said with a hearty pat to George's back as he passed through the doorway.

"Yes, nice work indeed," Harry agreed with a smile as he followed.

Draco and Wraith entered with George, leaving Hermione and Killian outside. She looked to Killian, who merely cocked his head and gestured for her to enter first. He was grinning, seeming to find George's new toy amusing. He also seemed to notice that Hermione did not approve of it. That, she believed, was even more amusing to him.

With a sigh, Hermione entered with Killian just behind her.

Inside, the house was small and cramped. Even so, everywhere one looked, they could see Severus Snape. There were Dark Arts and Potions books on the shelves, an almost throne-esque reading chair set aside a table with several pillar candles, dozens of statues and knick-knacks lining the mantle, and a series of paintings and portraits adorning the walls.

"This is going to be impossible," Harry said, sounding slightly dejected. "We don't even know what we're looking for. We don't even know where to start."

"I don't suppose you have anything in that little black case for this, do you?" Draco asked of George.

"As a matter of fact, I believe I do," George answered. He went into his case and removed one of the vials. "I got this idea from Muggles actually," he explained. "Dad was telling me that they have these people called _forensics_. They spray some sort of liquid over an area, turn on a fancy dark light, and it makes blood glow."

"Really?" Draco asked. "And why would they want to do that?"

"It can help in criminal cases," Harry answered. "Matching DNA with suspects and such."

"Matching DNA?" Draco scoffed. "Muggles are so primitive. There are a dozen charms that work better than that."

"True as that may be," Harry conceded with a grin, "Muggles aren't exactly privy to them."

"No, but they're pretty clever though," George said. "This fluid they use can detect blood even if someone tried to clean it up. So I started to think, what if I could make something like that?" He opened the vial and removed his wand. With a quick flick, the liquid turned to vapor and filled with room. In a few moments, the mist dissipated. "Only my version wouldn't find blood that someone was trying to clean up or hide," he went on with another flick of his wand. An orb appeared in the room, giving off a dark radiant light, causing several dozen objects in the room to glow a ghostly white. "Mine would show hidden magic."

"Remind me to invest in this new branch of your company," Draco offered as he admired the glowing objects.

Hermione looked around the room. Objects on the mantle were glowing. Two of the candles on the table were glowing. Dozens of books were glowing. Even Killian's staff and Wraith's bow were glowing because their wands were hidden inside.

"This is all well and good," Hermione said. "But it doesn't particularly narrow things down. Half the room appears to possess some form of hidden magic."

"Half the room is better than all of it," George pointed out with a grin.

"It's here," came Harry's voice from the far side of the room. He was staring at a white glow near the baseboards of the wall.

With another flick of George's wand, the orb disappeared and the room returned to normal. Harry was standing before a large painting. It stretched from the floor to the ceiling and portrayed a path winding through the trees, over a stone bridge, and disappearing in the darkness beyond.

"What is it?" Draco asked as he joined Harry.

Killian walked over and ran his fingers across the painting. "It doesn't seem out of the ordinary. Just oil and canvas. Are you certain?"

Harry pointed at a grouping of flora alongside the path at the bottom of the painting where the white glow had emanated. "The flowers," he explained. "They're lilies."


	9. Chapter 9 - Crimson Midnight

_- Crimson Midnight -_

It was a beautiful painting. A tranquil scene of nature near sunset. Beyond the trees, where the path disappeared into the background, the sun was setting, creating a vibrant blend of red and amber against the approaching night.

Hermione looked at the bronze plate tacked to the frame, displaying the work of art's title. "Crimson Midnight," she read aloud.

"I'm telling you," Harry assured. "This is it. The lilies … It's not a coincidence."

Snape had loved Harry's mother … Lily. Her death led to Snape's renouncing of Lord Voldemort and his decision to turn spy for Dumbledore. Harry was right. The lilies in the painting could not be a coincidence. They were a sign, an eternal memory in honor of the death he felt so responsible for.

"What is it?" Draco asked as he felt along the frame. "A door?" He pulled the frame slightly away from the wall. "There's nothing behind it."

Killian raised his staff to the painting.

"_Ostendo_," he whispered.

Nothing.

Everyone looked to George.

"Sorry," he apologized humbly. "I can find your charmed items, but he could have used anything to seal them. It would be impossible to decipher it without a little help."

Hermione them remember the flower she and Killian had found in the storage closet. She removed the flower from her pocket and held it to the painting. There was a lily in the cluster of flora Harry had pointed out to them that was an exact match.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked as Hermione bent down and held the flower before its twin.

"I'm not sure," she answered.

The flower in her hand pulled from her grip and hovered by its oil and canvas match. Slowly, it melded with the painting and vanished within the brushstrokes. As it did, the painting rippled like a millpond disrupted by a skipping stone. When the canvas settled once more, Killian reached out to touch it, only to find his hand fall clear through.

"Look like you were right, Harry," Altimus said with a laugh. "Good that you're here, eh?"

"So we'll find the Eye in there?" Draco asked.

"I would assume it to be beyond the path," Killian answered.

"Seems simple enough," Draco said. "Who's going to get it?"

"We're with the Ministry," Hermione said, referring to herself, Harry, and Draco. "We'll retrieve the Eye."

"I'm coming with you," Killian said, his tone indicating this as a statement of fact rather than a request.

"Don't trust us?" Draco asked with a grin.

"I don't trust the Ministry," Killian answered with a grin of his own. "Wraith, Altimus," he went on, "stay here and guard the door."

"It will be done," Wraith answered with her usual lack of emotion.

"George—" Killian went on.

"No worries," George assured. "We'll have a grand old time out here. Rummage through some of old Snape's belonging while you kids enjoy your stroll."

So it was set. Wraith and Altimus stood by the front door while George perused Snape's library of books and collections. Harry stepped through the painting, followed by Draco, Hermione, and Killian.

Once through, the scene of oil on canvas lost its blurs of brushstrokes and emerged as a clear and serene as reality itself. Hermione turned back toward the gateway they had just crossed and saw it as a painting of the room in Snape's home, hovering weightlessly in the air.

"Absolutely amazing," she said to herself.

"Snape was brilliant," Harry said, overhearing Hermione's utterance. "Shall we go then?"

Together, the group ventured down the path, over the bridge, and through the trees beyond. There, they saw an odd scene unfold. There was a wall of granite, near a hundred feet in height with a narrow opening for the path cross through. In the distance, there was a hill. At its top, a shimmering orb glistened in the setting sun. Obstructing their way, in the opening of the wall, was a grid of marble tiles similar to that of a chessboard. Only these tiles were imprinted with images that appeared random. Various animals, settings, flowers, and symbols.

"Have we enjoyed our little walk?" came a chillingly familiar voice.

Professor Snape appeared from behind a fallen tree aside the path. Not the Snape that they all knew. He was younger, like in the memory Dumbledore kept in his hidden room behind the bookshelf.

"P-Professor?" Draco muttered in disbelief.

Snape approached, looking down his nose at them. "Pale skin, blonde hair … very familiar features. I imagine that you must be a Malfoy."

"Yes," Draco answered. "Draco Malfoy. Lucius is my father."

"And you," Snape went on, glaring at Harry. "Harry Potter. James and Lily's infamous offspring. I can only imagine why you would be here with a Malfoy. Judging by your ages, I can only assume it has been quite some time since I entered this painting. Time has a funny way of changing things, does it not?"

"Apparently so," Harry conceded.

Snape looked at Hermione and Killian. "You two, I'm afraid, I am not familiar with."

"Killian Finn," Snape's one-time apprentice said. Hermione noticed the sting he felt upon his mentor's failure to recognize him.

"Ah, yes," Snape drawled. "I do seem to recall a Finn family. Ireland, yes?"

"Yes, sir," Killian answered simply, again seeming to fight the sting.

"Such manners," Snape mused with a slight grin. "I must assume that you were a student of mine."

"In a manner of sorts," Killian conceded.

"Which still leaves you," Snape addressed Hermione.

"Hermione Granger," she replied.

"The name means to nothing to me," Snape dismissed.

"She's a Mud—" Draco began, but caught himself. "She's a Muggle."

Snape folded his hands behind his back and paced before the group. "Such a motley crew stands before me. A Pure-Blood, a Mud-Blood, The Boy Who Lived, and a former student."

"Technically, we are all former students of yours," Harry corrected.

"Indeed," Snape agreed, eyeing each of them. "And where, might I ask, am I? Or am I to assume that I merely sent you in my place."

Harry and Draco exchanged glances. Neither appeared willing to answer the question.

"You were unable to accompany us," Harry finally answered. "We learned of this place from the clues you left behind."

"Clues?" Snape asked, narrowing his eyes. "Why should you be following clues? Why is it that I did not simply divulge the information?"

"We received the clues from your portrait," Killian answered.

Snape paused, then turned away and looked at the ground. "My portrait," he said solemnly. "I see." He walked a few steps away, placing his hand on his head, before turning back to the group. "Pity," he went on, having collected himself. "Had I been here, I would have been able to show you the way."

Hermione stepped forward. "What do you mean?"

Snape grinned condescendingly. "You do not believe that you can simply walk up that hill and retrieve the Eye of Infinitio, do you?"

"The grid is a trap," Killian deduced.

"Excellent," Snape commended, albeit with hint of sarcasm. "Tell me, Mr. Finn, what manner of student were you? I sense a connection that I cannot place."

Killian seemed unwilling to answer. "It does not matter now. All that matters is that we retrieve the Eye. If you know the way, you must tell us."

Snape laughed as he, again, paced back and forth. "That would be impossible. I am not able to pass on such information. All part of the measures that were put into place to keep the Eye safe from those who seek it." He stopped, glaring at Draco. "And why is it, exactly, that you seek it yourselves?"

"Lord Gaius Mideus has returned," Draco answered. "He has sent his disciples in search of the Eye. They are already in possession of the Spiorad Druma."

The news appeared to strike a chord in the old Potions master. He turned away again, rubbing his chin, his eyes dancing around with no noticeable focus.

"It would seem likely that they would eventually trace the Eye back to me," he thought aloud, "thus leading them here."

"Exactly," Hermione spoke up. "That is why we need to gain control of the Eye, to protect it."

Snape walked back to the fallen tree and sat. "However noble your quest may be, I am still unable to help any further. If, as you say, I have already given you the clues, you should have little trouble finding the way on your own. But mind your step."

Killian walked over to the grid that lay before them and examined the marble tiles, struggling to find meaning. Hermione joined him, equally puzzled.

"Clearly there is a path across," Killian said. "But what is it?"

"He said to mind our step," Draco offered as he, too, studying the tiles.

"What if we don't step on it at all?" Harry suggested.

"Well, we can't scale the wall," Draco scoffed. "And it's too far to jump."

Harry flicked his wand. Draco soon hovered several feet off the ground.

"Oh, very clever," Draco said, rich with sarcasm. "Why is it that I'm the one being tossed across?"

"Because it was my idea," Harry answered smugly.

Draco did not appear amused. He hovered in the air and slowly drifted over the marble tiles at the direction of Harry wand. It appeared that the plan was going along smoothly until Draco reached the halfway point. Several bolts of energy streamed from the granite walls, blasting Draco from the air. He collided with the ground, his body covering several tiles at once.

Suddenly the earth shook. Draco painfully staggered to his feet and joined the group, who were standing huddled and at the ready.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked of no one in particular.

"You chose the wrong path," Snape answered simply from his vantage on the fallen log.

As Snape watched on, a horde of stone warriors emerged from the walls as if leaping out of water. Their bodies, like their source, were solid granite, and they carried with them weapons of blunt force. Hammers, axes, clubs … objects meant to inflict massive damage and physical pain.

At once, the warriors leapt in action, attacking those who followed the wrong path and scattering them in every direction. Hermione fired several blasts from her wand, only to find them ineffective. It seemed that the warrior's stone bodies would take more explosive offensive magic to damage.

Killian fought two near Snape, who continued to watch casually. Killian ducked under one warrior's club, which found its mark in the other's head, tearing it from his stony shoulders. Even so, the now headless warrior swung his ax, which missed by a hair and lodged itself into Snape's fallen tree. Killian took advantage, blasting the warrior's arm clean off before sending another charge directly into his chest and shattering him into a thousand pieces. From there, Killian focused on the remaining foe.

Draco and Harry fought near the tiles, sending out wave after wave of volatile magic, creating mounds of debris in its wake. After Hermione dispatched of a few on her own, she joined them as the horde continued to push forward.

A resounding explosion sounded near the area where she had last seen Killian, followed by a rain of gravel sized stones. A moment later, Killian, having carved through the line, joined them as well. Now together, they cut through the remaining granite warriors with relative ease. In a few moments, the area fell silent once again, nothing but the heaving sound of their breathes filling the air.

They had escaped relatively unscathed. A few bumps, bruised, and cuts from granite shrapnel accounted for most of the injuries. It could have been far worse.

"Bloody brilliant plan that was!" Draco complained as he plopped down on the grass beside the path and brushed the stone and dust from his clothes. "Next time, you can be the lab rat!"

Harry merely shrugged. There was not much that he could say. His plan clearly had not worked out as he had anticipated. Although, Hermione believed that she could see a slight grin in Harry's expression. After all, not only had Draco been blasted from the air, he was also thoroughly annoyed. That was definitely enough to put a smile on Harry's face.

"I would be more weary next time," Snape offered. "I daresay you will not survive a second failure."

Killian went back to the tiles and stared at the images carved within. "The wrong path," he said to himself as Hermione walked over. "What is the right path?"

"It impossible to say," Hermione answered. "There are too many combinations and it's far too random. It could take forever."

"If we have already been given the clues," Killian thought aloud, "we should have little trouble finding the way on our own."

"What?" Hermione asked, cocking her head.

"That's what Professor Snape said. That one, I mean," he clarified with a gesture to the younger Snape sitting in the fallen tree. "And he said to mind our step. So we need to walk across … and follow a certain path."

Hermione looked at the tiles. From the chaos came a sudden order.

"Unrefined and foul," she said.

Now it was Killian's turn to look puzzled.

"The first clue Snape gave us," Hermione explained. "It led us to the flower. What if there was more to the clue than just the flower? Look," she pointed to a tile in the second row. It was an image of miller's wheel. "A picture of grains being milled into flour … grains that have not been possessed … unrefined." She pointed to a tile in the fifth row. "And there … clearly some form of goose. A fowl."

Killian took a step and landed on the tile of the miller's wheel.

"What are you doing?" Hermione gasped.

"Testing your theory," Killian answered as he took another step, landing on the tile with the goose image imprinted on it. "So far, so good. Where next?"

Harry and Draco ran over.

"Are you insane?" Draco shouted. "Do you want another band of granite imbeciles swinging for our heads?"

"Calm yourself," Killian said simply, returning his focus to Hermione. "Where next?"

Hermione could barely breath. Her heart drummed in her chest. She had been right about the first two tiles. But was it luck? Odds were against it. However, if she were wrong, then Killian would the recipient of a painful consequence.

Snape, seeming interested, walked over and stood beside Hermione. "You are plagued with doubt," he drawled. "How amusingly pathetic."

As much as she hated to admit it, Hermione could not disagree. She doubted herself. She did not know why. Perhaps it was potential consequence of being wrong. The cause really did not matter. The doubt was there.

"Hermione," Killian called back to her from his place amidst the booby-trap. His eyes met hers. Whatever doubt she was feeling, it did not seem to affect him. He believed in her. Foolishly or otherwise, he believed in her. "Where next?" he asked again.

"What as written on the lily petal?" Harry asked.

"The eye lay at the end of the turn," Hermione answered as she glanced about the tiles.

"Two rows ahead," Draco pointed out. "It's an eye. That has to be next."

Killian looked to Hermione for confirmation. "Do we agree?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Yes," she answered cautiously. "Yes … that should be next."

Killian took a long step to the tile with an image of an eye on it. Everyone held their breath as he looked around for any sign of trouble. None came.

"So now what are we looking for?" Harry asked as Killian awaited his next move.

"The end," Hermione answered.

"The end?" Draco questioned. "What kind of image is that?"

"Death" Harry pondered aloud. "Is there an image of a skull and crossbones?"

"None that I see," Killian answered. "Nor any other image along those lines."

Draco pointed to a tile a row ahead of Killian. "What's that one?"

"It looks like some form of fence or gate," Killian answered.

"A fence can mark a boundary line …" Draco theorized "… the end of a particular piece of property."

"Good enough for me," Killian said before anyone could argue. He quickly stepped to the tile, again finding no negative effect.

"Damn it, Killian!" Hermione shouted. "Don't move so quickly!"

Killian looked back and grinned. "One more," he said. "I can only assume it must be _the turn_."

Harry leaned in, straining his eyes. Draco and Hermione did the same.

"We can't see any of the tiles from here," Harry called to Killian. "What can you see?"

Killian looked around. "Nothing that particularly rings of a turn or a spin," he answered. "A star, a square, three parallel lines, random animals … a bear, an ox, a fish … an man who appears to be lathing a piece of wood … I may be able to simply jump from here."

"No," Hermione shouted. "Don't move! You saw what happened the last time we tried to cut a corner!"

Harry leaned over to Hermione. "That last one he said … the man with the lathe … what would that be called?"

"A carpenter?" Draco offered, although not with much confidence.

"A woodworker?" Hermione offered as well. Suddenly a thought struck her. "Or a woodturner!"

"A what?" Draco and Killian asked in unison.

"A woodturner," Hermione repeated. "They use a lathe to shape wooden objects." Her explanation was met with blank stares from the two Slytherins. "It's a Muggle thing," she explained with a sigh before turning to Snape, "and something you would have known about, being a Half-blood yourself."

"Would I have? You seem to know an awful lot of me," Snape said coolly, looking down his nose at Hermione. "Such doubt in your eyes … Fascinating."

Hermione looked to Killian. He was awaiting an answer. Could the woodturner be the turn? It was so close, but it was not exact. Then again, Spinners End was not exactly the end of the turn either. There was so much at stake.

"That's it," Hermione said at last. "The woodturner."

"You're certain?" Killian asked.

There was not a single mark of concern of his face. It was as if he was simply waiting to cross the street as opposed to potentially standing on the abyss of another, possibly mortal, attack.

"No …" Hermione answered, the anxiety tearing away at her, "… yes."

"Off we go."

Without hesitation, Killian stepped onto the tile and awaited judgment. Harry cringed. Draco looked away. Hermione and Snape, however, could not take their eyes off Killian. After a few moments, when nothing happened, a collective sigh of relief emanated from the area.

"You are quite gifted," Snape reluctantly offered to Hermione, who was holding her hands to her mouth and taking deep, calming breaths. He then turned to Killian. "And you are quite reckless. As odd a partnership as Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter. However … well played."

"Reckless?" Draco scoffed, gesturing wildly at Killian. "A bloody fool is more like it! No go on and get that Eye so we can get out of here!"

Killian took the final step that landed him on the path beyond the tiles. He turned back to the group. "Wait here. I won't be long."

"No," Hermione argued. She quickly danced across the same path on the tiles that Killian had just crossed. "I'm going with you."

Killian's eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you mad?" he asked as Hermione joined his side. "What if the path had changed once I crossed?"

Hermione turned back and looked at the tiles. "Clearly, it didn't."

"I seem to understand a little better now," Snape drawled with a disapproving grin. "How easily the gifted become reckless themselves when the heart is involved."

Hermione ignored the remark. With a glance to Harry, who nodded in return, she and Killian headed up the hill toward the glimmering Eye of Infinitio.

When they reached the top, there were no obstacles in their way. The trap of tiles was clearly meant to dispose of any intruders. Now, there was only the prize for those worthy of receiving it.

The Eye hovered weightlessly above a stone dais carved with ancient runes. The light from the sun setting in blood-red sky cast eerie shadows and refractions of color. The Eye itself was a simple crystal orb with some form of silver shimmering substance swirling within it core. Simple, yet breathtaking.

Killian reached for the Eye, but Hermione stopped him.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Why did you walk across?" she asked in return. "You didn't even stop to think. You just went. Why?"

"Because you said it was the right path," Killian answered simply.

"I could have been wrong," Hermione argued. "You could have been killed."

Killian placed his hand on Hermione's cheek and looked her in the eyes. "You may doubt yourself," he said softly, "but I will never doubt you."

Hermione smiled. She loved him and she hated him. Such polar emotions all wrapped around one person. Before she could fully take it in, the ground shook violently.

"What was that?" she gasped as she grabbed the stone dais for balance.

"I have no idea," Killian answered.

All around them, the sky seemed to be falling away. Bits and pieces of the area cracked and dissipated into nothingness.

Killian took the Eye into one hand and Hermione into the other. "We have to get out of here!"

Together, the two raced down the hill to join Harry and Draco.


End file.
